At The High Table
by MissiAmphetamine
Summary: The Transfiguration and Muggle Studies professors happily have no reason to interact with each other...except at meals, where fate - and poor seating arrangements - place them far too close for comfort. Hermione fears she may be driven to murder Malfoy with her fork, but instead resigns herself to attempting professional courtesy, and finds out that people change.
1. Part One

**Author's Note: **Insert standard disclaimer here. I own nothing; I'm just playing in someone else's 'verse.

This is the first chapter of a little two-shot birthday fic, for the ever-wonderful **Phnxgirl**. She asked for something I've never done before – short and fluffy, with a maximum word count of 20k. I've agonised over this fic more than a fluffy fic has any right to be agonised over because _ohmigod-fluff-is-so-hard!_, and I have no idea if I've met the mark… At any rate, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**At The High Table**

۞ **Part One **۞

**Dinner**

Hermione hurried into the Great Hall in a breathless fluster, her hair escaping its knot and her cheeks reddened from her half-run through Hogwarts' secret passages in order to get here on time. And she had, thank goodness – the returning students were just beginning to file into the Hall for the beginning-of-year feast. She slipped into her seat at the teachers' table with a stifled sigh – second from the end, Neville to her right and an empty seat awaiting the new Muggle Studies professor to her left.

"I lost track of time," she told Neville, in answer to his questioning – and rather amused – look. Ugh, she must look a right state for even Neville to notice it.

"Double-checking lesson plans?"

"Triple-checking, more like," Hermione admitted ruefully, transfiguring her dinner plate into a mirror and trying fruitlessly to restore order to her hair.

"You'll be fine, Hermione. You know that. You did fine last year," Neville said reassuringly over the students' hubbub, but Hermione thought it was easy for him to be blasé, given it was his sixth year teaching Herbology. This was to be her first full year teaching Transfiguration, and her first attempt at creating a curriculum.

"Last year I only had to teach for just over half the final term, and I mostly used the lesson plans Professor Kindlethorpe had prepared before he'd left," she pointed out nervously.

"You've had every last detail planned out since halfway through the holidays, Hermione. All neatly organised and colour-coded. You're more well-prepared than I am," Neville admitted with a endearing smile that highlighted how handsome he'd become – Hannah was a lucky woman. "You're worrying over nothing. Just like you used to with exams."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione agreed, giving up on her rather frizzy bun and tapping the transfigured mirror to return it to a dinner plate. She _was_ an incurable perfectionist when it came to her work, and it was good to be reminded of that sometimes – that her impossibly high personal standards were not the standard by which every else judged her.

"Thanks, Neville." She smiled at him and then settled back in her chair as the buzzing of students' chatter began to die away.

The brand-new little first years were Sorted without any tears over being put in 'the wrong House', and Hermione found herself watching them, amazed at how young they seemed. She couldn't believe that she had ever been so little – and the amount of danger that she, Harry, and Ron had gone tearing into at that age. Merlin! They had been far too young to be doing all that. It seemed utter madness, looking back at it from fifteen years in the future.

The wise old age of twenty-seven, Hermione thought self-deprecatingly, and then Professor McGonagall was introducing the two new Professors. Care of Magical Creatures – Hagrid had finally retired, although he was keeping his hut – was to be taught by Karl Milngavie, a man Hermione vaguely remembered as being a Hufflepuff three years ahead of her at school.

"And please give a warm welcome to our new Muggle Studies professor," Minerva began, and Hermione sat forward in her seat eagerly. She was intensely curious to find out who the teacher would be, partially because Muggle Studies was a subject understandably close to her heart, although it would drive her insane to try to teach it, and partially because Minerva had only secured the teacher this week and been very cagy about who she had retained. And for some reason, it had felt rude to ask the Headmistress outright.

"– Another past Hogwarts student, Professor Draco Malfoy," Minerva finished.

Hermione's fingers spasmed on the cloth napkin in her lap.

…what?

This had to be some sort of sick joke. Or a hallucination brought on by the stress Hermione had been feeling lately. And she thought she preferred the prospect of incipient insanity than the spectre of having to work with Draco Malfoy. Please dear Merlin, no. She shot Neville a horrified, disbelieving look, silently mouthing: "Malfoy?"

He shrugged helplessly at Hermione, apparently no more well-informed than her. The Hall, which had resounded with the polite applause of students and teachers at Professor Milngavie's introduction, was now silent as a tomb. Minerva cleared her throat rather sternly and began to clap, prompting a smattering of weak applause, as – horror of all horrors – Draco Malfoy walked in.

Hermione did not applaud. She was too busy trying to shred apart a linen napkin with her bare hands, jaw clenching so hard she thought she might snap her teeth off. Malfoy sat down beside her and she couldn't help glancing at him – the first time she had seen the wizard in over seven years, so yes, she was perversely curious if she were honest.

He was tall and lean in well-tailored black robes, clean-shaven, his white-blonde hair shorter than she'd ever seen it on him. The sharp edges to his features had blunted with age and he no longer looked like a ferret, but in fact was rather attractive. A shame about his personality; no matter how aesthetically acceptable he might be, who Malfoy was as a person made him ugly.

He caught Hermione staring and with one arch of his eyebrow, managed to make her feel about two inches tall, and flush with embarrassment.

"Granger. Long time no see." He was the embodiment of cool civility as he nodded to Hermione, and her napkin tore in her fists.

"Not long enough," she snapped, quiet but vehement, and then turned her attention to Minerva's welcoming speech, inwardly stewing.

How dare he sit there with that faint, smug smile on his face? How dare he act like she had any cause whatsoever to feel anything other than contempt for him? He didn't deserve to sit at the teachers' table, and to think of him as Muggle Studies teacher? Merlin, it was laughable - worse than laughable. It was offensive. What on earth had Minerva been thinking?

Hermione pointedly ignored him over the course of the rest of the feast, and luckily he left immediately afterward, allowing her to stay and question Minerva about Malfoy.

"Give him a chance, Hermione. The young man has changed since the war," was Minerva's crisp response, and then upon seeing Hermione's face: "And if you can't bring yourself to give him that chance then please at least trust my judgement, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't argue with that reasoning, unfortunately.

**Lunch**

They were now two weeks into the term, and Hermione still wasn't used to eating meals beside Draco Malfoy. It came at her like a horrible shock at most meals. Sitting and chatting with Neville, only to be rudely startled by Malfoy's sudden appearance beside her. It left her feeling like she had to be constantly on guard against him, which wore her nerves to a frayed thread and only served to make her snippier. She tried to politely ignore him but much of the time failed dismally, leading to discreet warfare between them.

He seemed to find it amusing.

She really had tried to give Malfoy a chance – the war had ended a long time ago, after all, and she had barely thought of him since. She hadn't had nightmares about the torture in the manor in years, and she'd thought it fair at the time that he hadn't been sent to Azkaban. But Merlin's pants, she could not stand him. She always resolved to be polite, but then he sat down beside her and she just wanted to…smack him in the face. The git.

Minerva had essentially told Hermione to suck it up and behave like an adult, which although couched in kinder terms still had stung.

Neville sympathised, but told Hermione with well-meaning bluntness that she would find Malfoy a lot easier to get along with if she stopped baiting him. It took her three days of self-righteous offence before she realised with a pang of shame that she did bait Malfoy. That had been a rude awakening, and yet she couldn't seem to stop.

Ron had been up in arms on her behalf when she'd seen him last week, and very pleasant to vent to, but a little too hot-headed. Hermione didn't think it would be appropriate to slip a love potion in Malfoy's food that made him fall madly in love with Filch, hex him, or turn him into a ferret. She didn't dislike the wizard that much, and besides, she was better than that.

She could have avoided some mealtimes – teachers were expected to attend most but not _all_ meals – but that would have looked like he had succeeded in driving her away. And yes, she could have swapped seats with Neville, but that would also have looked like she was running away from Malfoy, and besides, she…didn't really want to swap.

Today at least she had escaped the horrors of eating with Malfoy; it was Saturday, and she was having lunch with Harry at The Three Broomsticks. They were winding up the usual exchange of news about friends and family, and Hermione felt pleasantly full and cheerful, and just a little bit tipsy from the firewhiskey Harry had pressed on her.

"And how's little James?" He was just gone three months old now, and Hermione didn't see nearly enough of him. Harry beamed with fatherly pride.

"Smiling and laughing at everything now, and sleeping five hours through the night."

"Ginny must be glad of that."

"Merlin, yes. And so am I. Gin does not do well with a lack of sleep, and she dumps all that lovely sleep-deprived rage on me. _God_ she's frightening." Harry grinned, and shovelled another forkful of mash into his mouth. "So, have you managed to call a truce with Malfoy yet?" he asked through his mouthful, and Hermione wrinkled her nose up at his lack of table manners, sipping at the butterbeer she'd ordered to wash down the firewhiskey.

"No. And I'm unlikely to, either. He drives me utterly spare, Harry. Godric preserve me, I can't bear the thought of a whole year in close proximity to him." She groaned and slumped over her butterbeer miserably.

"Not a year, Hermione."

Her head jerked up. Had Harry heard Malfoy was leaving? He was one of the Aurors who conducted periodic inspections of the Malfoy manor for Dark artefacts – one of the conditions of Lucius Malfoy's sentencing; lifelong parole in order to avoid ten years in Azkaban. Harry had mentioned in passing that he was due to sweep the mansion when he'd fire-called Hermione a few days ago – he was on quite good terms with Narcissa Malfoy. Perhaps he'd heard something from the witch about Malfoy leaving the Muggle Studies post. Hope swelled up in her, absurdly strong.

"I know you plan on staying at Hogwarts for the majority of your working life, and as far as I know, Malfoy is probably going to remain there long-term too. So…"

Oh god. Oh dear Merlin, Harry was right. How on earth did Hermione not see that? She could end up working alongside Malfoy for the rest of her life.

"Kill me now, Harry," she moaned, with a small despairing sort of laugh. Eerily, Harry gave her the same look of fond exasperation that she used to give to him and Ron when she was trying to get them to study.

"_Honestly_, Hermione. I know Malfoy was a prat in the past, but he can't be all that bad if McGonagall thought he was worth hiring. Perhaps if you just gave him a chance, like McGonagall said…"

"I know, I know. I'm trying to, Harry! But then I see him sitting there –" Hermione waved her hands about as she tried to think exactly what it was Malfoy did that was so insufferable. Reading Muggle books, which for some reason irritated her madly? Silently sipping at his tea with a distant expression that was startlingly and disturbingly like Snape's? Smiling with superior amusement at the way she hitched her chair further away from him? Saying a civil hello to Neville and the other staff, but merely nodding to her?

It all sounded ridiculous, when she considered saying it aloud.

"Sitting there, _existing_," she finished pathetically, and Harry had the nerve to chuckle at her.

"You're not exactly being rational, Hermione."

She sighed and nodded in tired acknowledgement. "I know. Like I said: he drives me spare. I left rationality behind at least a week ago. He just has a way of getting under my skin, and I don't know _why_."

"Well, it is Malfoy. There's history there, and none of it good," Harry said, which sounded valid except it wasn't, and Hermione shook her head.

"I don't think that's why, Harry. Before he reappeared out of nowhere and took his position at the school I hadn't really thought of him in years. All that bad blood was well in the past." Hermione frowned. "Where was he all those years, anyway? He just up and disappeared from society not long after his trial, which was rather understandable, but it was a terribly long time to lay low only to pop up in the public eye as a _teacher_. And a Muggle Studies teacher at that! Have you ever seen him at the manor?"

"He was living in the Muggle world, Hermione," Harry said with surprise, as though that was something she should've known. "Going to a Muggle university. It was all over Witch Weekly when he began uni, around six years ago, I think it was. I just assumed that you'd heard about it, and didn't particularly want to waste time chatting about old enemies."

…Malfoy? At a Muggle uni? No… That made no sense. Hermione felt her old image of a hopelessly bigoted, arrogant Malfoy tilt and skew disconcertingly, her assumptions all of a sudden seeming rigid and unfairly judgemental. If Malfoy had freely chosen to live in the Muggle world for at least six years, and studied at a Muggle school, he must have changed. But she was so wrapped up in disliking him, she hadn't noticed any changes there might be. Merlin, she felt almost guilty now. She shook it off - she could think it over later, when she wasn't out at lunch and supposed to be good company.

"You know I don't take any notice of the gossip magazines, Harry." She gave him a teasing look. "And I didn't know you were a Witch Weekly subscriber."

He actually blushed. "Ginny gets them – I just flick through sometimes. Honest."

**Breakfast**

Breakfasts were always the worst; neither of them were naturally morning people – and honestly she could have done without knowing what sort of hours Malfoy preferred to keep – and so tensions were often high, to put it mildly. She picked at him, which provoked him into making digs at her, both of them grouchy and bleary-eyed as he had his tea and toast, and she, her coffee and fresh fruit.

Today was no different unfortunately, despite Hermione's renewed attempts to give Malfoy a chance since her lunch with Harry last week. If they were going to be working alongside each other for the foreseeable future, it would be easier if they could co-exist in peace.

Hermione had been up late marking fifth year essays - most of them utterly abysmal - and had managed to get precisely three hours of sleep. As a result she was hardly in a good mood, frizzy-haired and with shadows beneath her eyes as she scowled into her coffee. Neville and the other teachers knew her well enough to understand it was best to leave Hermione alone when she was like this.

Malfoy did not. Or maybe he had just decided to provoke her for once.

"Merlin, you look like utter shite, Granger. Did you –" he began in a low, sleepy voice as he sat down. Hermione glared daggers, and cut him off before he could insult her any further.

"Why thank you, Malfoy. How lovely of you to notice. Every witch just longs to hear how horrid they look and you've always _so_ kindly obliged. And I appreciate the reminder, really I do." Hermione was bitingly furious, all thoughtlessly reactive vehemence, and when she'd snapped her mouth shut even _she_ was taken back by just how angry she'd sounded.

Malfoy was staring at her blankly, his only sign of emotion the way his knuckles were white from clutching the teapot handle so hard. He almost looked…hurt.

"Did you have a rough night –" He started slowly, anger trembling beneath his quiet words. "– Was what I was going to ask, most sympathetically, before you went off on your bitchy and misguided little tirade."

Hermione went hot with mortification and a foolish defensive anger. "I –"

"I was trying to be friendly," Malfoy said slowly, as if she were a particularly stupid child, his grey eyes cool and a little crease appearing between his brows. Oh. Oh dear. Hermione cringed inwardly before sparking up again like an idiot.

"Well, seeing as you've never been friendly to me in your life, I can hardly be faulted for not recognising it, can I?" She stabbed a slice of pineapple angrily – fantasising that it was his hand she was impaling – and glared at him triumphantly. She had him on that point.

He frowned and stalled in giving an answer with the ridiculously flimsy implication that pouring his tea took all his focus, his face all exaggerated concentration. Irritating prat.

"Well?" she goaded; possibly immature and most likely unnecessary. She should have just let it go and gone back to ignoring him. Malfoy paused with his teacup hovering just beneath his lips, and gave her a tired look. It gave her a flicker of doubt about whether her behaviour was warranted, but that moment of doubt was drowned by her indignation and her enjoyment in taking her grumpiness out on him.

"Fine. You win, Granger. Does that make you happy, to hear me say it?" he said, and then took a measured sip of his tea.

"Not particularly, but then nothing you've ever done has ever made me happy, so…" She gave him a shirty little sneer that Ron would have applauded, and that she would be ashamed of later. "…Maybe I wouldn't recognise that either."

"Maybe." Malfoy shrugged lightly, refusing to rise to her barb, just eying her up and down with an assessing manner. No doubt he was taking in the full horror of her frazzled hair, dark-ringed eyes, tautly down-turned mouth, and wrinkled teacher's robes – the she-beast, newly emerged from her cave and seeking victims. She glared at him and he arched a brow. "Just drink your damned coffee, Granger, before you turn your wrath on poor Longbottom next."

Hermione seethed at that, at the way he had seen right through her and gotten to the truth of the matter; she _was_ just lashing out at him because he was a handy target and she was in a bad mood. Embarrassment and shame swept up in her, and while she would feel bad for it later, in the heat of the moment she lashed out again.

"You deserve it though, Malfoy. Neville doesn't."

He scowled then; his own anger bleeding through his cool control.

"I…? _I_ deserve…? Merlin, you're infuriating!"

"No more than you," she jabbed, but Malfoy just shifted his attention very deliberately to his breakfast and didn't respond. Didn't say another word right throughout breakfast, in fact, no matter how many surreptitious dirty looks she turned his way. It left her feeling stupidly…disappointed.

**Lunch**

Malfoy was reading a Muggle book as he picked at his food distractedly; more focused on the book than his meal. Hermione did that too, sometimes. All right – she did that a _lot_. Malfoy looked different when he was lost in a novel, Hermione had observed over the past few days. His features softened, his brow furrowed slightly, he tended to gnaw gently on his lower lip, his eyes went a smoky grey instead of the stony look they usually had…aaand it kind of worried Hermione that she'd noticed all those little details.

Was that normal? It was hard not to notice, she rationalised. She had come to realise Malfoy actually looked somewhat appealing when he was absorbed in a book, and Hermione lost the otherwise ever-present and rather disconcerting desire to smack him in the face. That was definitely noteworthy. Definitely. And that was the only noteworthy thing about it. Not the way he looked like someone she could _like_ if he weren't Malfoy. Because she _didn't_ think that. At all.

Hermione tried to figure out what book it was that Malfoy was so enthralled by, but couldn't make the title out with mere quick, sneaky glances. She peered more closely at the thick book in his hands out of the corner of her eye, while stabbing blindly at the salad on her plate.

"Heinlein," he said abruptly without looking at her, reaching for his cup of tea and taking an absent sip. Hermione jumped and blushed. Caught in the act. He slid his gaze up from the book; eyes amused on her and still a soft, hazy grey.

"Oh. Which one?" she rallied despite her embarrassment. Now that she had been caught, she might as well sate her curiosity.

"Time Enough For Love," Malfoy answered, his expression shifting minutely and a guarded chill growing over his features. As if he was bracing himself for her snippy little verbal jabs, and Hermione was ensnared by the way his face changed in front of her. She saw him – really saw him – and there was none of the smug nastiness she always assumed in him, just cautious defensiveness.

"Oh," she said again, hearing the note of uncertainty in her voice, and so did he, damn him. She saw it on his face. Hermione was not an avid fan of science fiction, but if she had nothing else on hand she would read Heinlein, and enjoy it well enough. "Not a bad book, altogether – I've read it once or twice," she added unnecessarily, striving hard for civility. She would give him a chance to show exactly how it was that he'd changed for the better, if indeed he truly had.

"Is there a book you _haven't_ read, Granger?" Faint curiosity in Malfoy's eyes, but his tone was prickly enough to set Hermione on edge. If that had come from a friend's lips she would have laughed, but Malfoy was not a friend and what might have been teasing banter just sounded combative. So she flinched back and frowned, her attempt at civility sliding away even as she groped at it with grasping fingers.

"Of course there is, Malfoy. _Many_ of them, in fact." Blunt words to match her frown as she pointedly turned away from Malfoy, bringing the conversation to an awkward close. She could feel his eyes lingering on her for a few seconds before he snorted derisively and she heard the whisper of a page turning as the weight of his gaze lifted off her. She felt belatedly as though she had been inexcusably horrible, and found her appetite was gone as she stared down at her salad.

Hermione didn't know if the blame for it could be laid at Malfoy's feet or hers, but she did know she didn't like how she acted when she was around him.

**Dinner**

That evening Hermione smiled at Malfoy as she sat down to dinner and he met her smile with a blank look, and then turned his face away. His eyes were cool and his mouth was set in a dead straight line, and she absently watched him in her peripheral vision as he ate, stupidly trying to see if the truth of who he was would be revealed in his features. She examined the straight sharp line of his nose, the bob of his Adams apple as he swallowed, his not white-blonde but instead improbably dark eyelashes, and the way the hinges of his jaw moved as he chewed.

All she discovered was that he had impeccable table manners, and was excellent at glowering at her – specifically _her_ – without even looking once in her direction. Neither of which told her anything at all about who Draco Malfoy was now, and whether he was worth her giving him a chance at friendliness.

**Breakfast**

Weeks had passed without either of them exchanging a single word; not even a greeting. Hermione had been idly watching Malfoy though; taking note of what she saw of his interactions with others, and observing him at meals. She was determined to figure him out so she could categorise him, stick a label on him, and file him neatly away as 'changed and worth being friendly towards', or 'still an utter prat'. So far the evidence was inconclusive.

She sneaked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye as she sipped at her coffee, feeling quite bright and cheerful after a good night's sleep. Malfoy looked tired in comparison, and his short hair was an unstyled mess that could match Harry's as he stared stiffly at his untouched toast, tea in hand.

"Would you _stop_ bloody staring at me?" He clattered his teacup hard back down into the saucer and glared at her, exuding waves of wrought up frustration. Hermione's cheeks flamed up red and she nearly choked on the grape she was chewing.

"What? I'm – I'm not staring at you!" She denied the words in a fierce whisper once she'd finished coughing and spluttering, acutely conscious of Neville beside her, and the chattering students at the long tables below the teachers' table.

"Oh really. Pull the other one, Granger, it's got bells on." He pinned her with his eyes. "You're a shit liar. If you've got something you want to say to me, just say it. But I swear to Salazar I cannot take another minute of you constantly staring at me with all the discretion of an angry troll, while deludedly thinking you're being sneaky."

"Well perhaps I'd be less inclined to –" Hermione fumbled for words that made her sound less like a creepy stalker. "– Observe you, and more inclined to speak to you if you weren't so…" Here she flailed a hand helplessly. "Stand-offish."

Malfoy gave her a dry look. "Come on, Granger. Why the fu– why in Merlin's name would I want to talk to you? Every time we've exchanged words you've, frankly –" He lowered his voice to a discreet mutter, mindful that they were hardly in a private place as he almost apologetically insulted her. "– been an utter bitch."

She narrowed her eyes and huffed. "Well so have you!" she snapped back without pause.

"…What?" The corners of Malfoy's lips curled up into an incredulous smile, real and genuine, all surprised amusement. "I've…been an utter bitch?"

Hearing him say it like that startled a laugh out of her. Hermione's skin flushed warm with it, and suddenly she wasn't angry or defensive anymore. For the first time since Malfoy had sat down beside her at the feast, she didn't have the unsettling desire to do just a wee bit of violence to him.

"Yes, Malfoy, you have been," she said, but she was grinning as she said it through her laughter, and he was grinning too. And there it was; the proof he'd changed, written in the upturned corners of his mouth and the crinkles at the outer edges of his eyes. It was somehow obvious; indisputable. Hermione blinked and snapped her eyes away from his, her laughter dying away as the import of the moment hit her.

Malfoy was apparently not the hateful prat that he had used to be. Not entirely, at least. She had shared a laugh with him. With Malfoy. What did that even mean?

Hermione looked back to Malfoy. Amused grey eyes unwavering on hers, and she sucked in a little breath at the shock of seeing Draco Malfoy look at her like that. As if he liked her. The moment swelled with awkward tension, and then his smile turned into a small smirk.

"Well. That's something I've never been called before."

"I can't imagine why not," she shot back pertly, hiding a fresh smile in her coffee. Malfoy snorted and took a bite of his toast, and then the world ticked on ever-so-slightly different.

**Lunch**

"What are you reading?" Her eyes skimmed curiously over the book in Malfoy's long-fingered hands.

"Asimov." He flipped the book closed and showed her the cover – _I, Robot_ – his thumb wedged between the pages to hold his place. Hermione hummed thoughtfully under her breath, her gaze lifting to Malfoy's.

"Interesting; I wouldn't have picked you for a sci-fi fan."

"You wouldn't have thought I'd ever deign to read a Muggle book _at_ _all_, would you, Granger?" His voice was mild, but as always when they had these tentative little exchanges, tension lurked beneath the surface. Hermione had been making genuine efforts to be friendly to Malfoy but it was hard to change the habits of half a lifetime, although as ever he was faultlessly polite – unless she jabbed first, which she hadn't yet, thanks to an extremely tight leash on her natural instinct to do so.

Regardless, every interaction seemed just slightly awkward.

They greeted each other at the beginning of every meal, but didn't always speak past that; Hermione hardly had any desire to be Malfoy's best friend. Just friendly colleagues would do fine, thank you – the ability to sit beside him without wanting to tear her skin off and suffocate him to death with it. She squinched up her nose; now _there_ was a vivid image.

Belatedly, she realised Malfoy was watching her as he chewed on his sandwich, waiting for her response.

"No. Well… Not until I discovered you'd been living in the Muggle world for the past half decade. Then it made a bit more sense."

"You only found that out last week?" He sounded disbelieving, and Hermione shrugged ruefully.

"Harry told me it was in Witch Weekly at the time, but I don't really pay attention to the gossip magazines."

"It was all over The Daily Prophet too, Granger, and you must read that – or were you living under a rock?" He seemed trapped between laughing at her ignorance and an inexplicable irritation at her, and Hermione hunched her shoulders slightly. Oh dear. Would it be awkward to tell him she'd preferred to keep away from any reminder that he'd still existed?

"I, er, specifically avoided reading anything that mentioned you. Or any other Death Eater," she hastened to add – an attempt to make it clear that it wasn't some personal hatred toward him on her part that fell utterly, horribly flat.

Malfoy's eyes widened and Hermione recognised the emotions that flickered on his paling face – shame, hurt, old pains revived. She swallowed hard as he jerked his left arm off the table with a rattle of jostled crockery, trying pointlessly to hide his arm in his lap.

"…I – Granger –" he began, still horribly ashen and those grey eyes filled to the brim with emotions that were too raw and personal for her to want to see on his face.

"_Anyway_ I had no idea you'd gone to Muggle university, which explains why you're equipped to teach Muggle Studies, I suppose, having lived in the Muggle world," Hermione rushed out frantically before Malfoy could stumble on with whatever it was he had been trying to say, her heart pounding wildly and sickly in her chest. She forced out a bright, brittle smile. "I did wonder what Minerva was thinking to give you that post. But it makes sense now." She sounded like an idiot, babbling away while Malfoy sat and stared at her with that trapped, wounded expression on his frozen features. She dragged in a shaky breath that did little to settle her rattling nerves.

"So – so…why do you like science fiction?" she groped desperately, trying for normal – but god, had she ever put her foot in it. Her cheeks felt hot, and miserably she wondered if she were telegraphing the embarrassment she was feeling with a vivid blush. Malfoy's throat bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, and his eyes fluttered shut briefly, lashes casting spidery shadows beneath his eyes.

"I –" He opened his eyes – avoiding her gaze – and snapped his book closed with a crack that made Hermione jump. "I just remembered I have to, ah – I – ah, mark homework…" He shoved his chair back roughly, nodding to Hermione without meeting her eyes, and all but fleeing the Hall with a sharp, stiff-shouldered stride.

A throat cleared awkwardly beside Hermione, and she remembered Neville sitting right beside her, currently looking uncomfortable enough to sink into the floor by sheer will alone. She moaned inwardly, tugging at the ends of her hair – loose and fluffing about her shoulders.

"I bloody well drove him off, Neville," she bemoaned. "I'm trying to be nice and get to know him as – as a colleague if not a friend, and instead I actually drove him away from his meal." She waved unhappily at Malfoy's stack of sandwiches, only half gone. Neville's face went soft with sympathy.

"It was obviously an accident, Hermione. A slip of the tongue. It's not like you were trying to be mean." He patted her hand. "And to be fair, it was true."

"Yes, but it wasn't exactly tactful of me to bring it up, true or not." Not exactly tactful – that was possibly the understatement of the year. Hermione cringed remembering Malfoy's raw, unguarded reaction. "He probably thought I was throwing it in his face, and I wasn't, honestly. Oh Merlin, I'm so embarrassed."

"I know you weren't," Neville soothed her kindly. "And from the horrified expression you had going on there, I'm pretty sure Malfoy realised that too – he probably only left because it was…extremely, ah, awkward. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Neville jollied her out of outright and vocal self-flagellation and into light conversation about other things, but underneath her attempts to act normally, Hermione was very much beating herself up over her misstep. Merlin, she could never seem to say the right things – or even _feel _the right things – around Draco Malfoy. She dreaded the thought of sitting next to him at dinner, in oh…just several short hours time. Hermione groaned silently to herself at the thought, outwardly smiling and nodding as Neville talked.

" – and Hannah can laugh about it now, but what Gran thinks I have _no _idea…"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So how did I do at my first foray into writing a fic that isn't dripping with angst, gore, and terrible feels? Please **review** and let me know if you liked it!


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note: **And I'm back with an update for the birthday fic at last! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, you guys are awesomesauce and I don't deserve you – all the hearts.

* * *

۞ **Part Two **۞

**Dinner**

They were nearly finished their meal before Hermione finally got up the nerve to break the heavy silence between them. She spoke quietly, with a hint of a squeak.

"Malfoy?"

No response. She fidgeted in her seat, thumb knocking back and forth over the lip of her wine glass. She peeked at him. Cleared her throat. But he had frozen when she had first spoken his name in a tiny, tentative voice, and now his pea-heaped fork hovered motionless in the air, clutched in white-knuckled fingers as he stared fixedly down at his dinner plate.

"Malfoy?"

Nothing happened except for an errant pea rolling off his fork, bouncing twice on the tablecloth and then careening onto the floor beneath the table. Hermione took a deep breath and forged on.

"I apologise for what I said earlier, at lunch. I didn't mean that - I wasn't trying to... Well, what I'm trying to say is that the past is the past, and I don't…hold it against you."

Malfoy's fork lowered swiftly but gently to his plate, the peas spilling off it as Hermione barrelled through what was possibly the most incoherent attempt at apology she had ever made. His mouth tightened and he ducked his head slightly, but still didn't look at her or say a single thing to defuse the moment, and almost involuntarily Hermione kept babbling her apologies, cringing inside.

"I certainly didn't intend to upset y-" she began to finish the excruciating apology, and Malfoy's head snapping up silenced her as he directed a vehement glare at her. Hermione bit her lip and looked away. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to remind him of how suddenly vulnerable he'd been in front of her, how starkly distressed he had appeared.

"Don't mention it, Granger," he said, rough and sharp at once. "It's fine."

"Ah, good, I –" Hermione started with a sigh, only for Malfoy to interrupt.

"No. Really. Don't mention it." Malfoy's mouth pulled downwards. "Ever."

Hermione swallowed and bit her lip again, nodding quickly. Conversation buzzed all around them, but they sat inside an awkward two-person bubble of deathly silence. She dredged her brain searching for something – _anything!_ – to break the silence between them, but came up with absolutely nothing.

Her gaze skittered from where it had been resting, flicking up to skid over Malfoy's face, which was set in a frown as he began to eat again. She smiled tentatively at him – nervous and awkward, the muscles around her mouth feeling stiff, and he took notice of it, unguarded surprise erasing the hard, scowling edges from his expression. The smile he returned to her after a puzzled moment was an uncertain, lopsided affair – and close-lipped, presumably because his mouth was stuffed with peas – but Hermione counted it as a definite victory.

"So, I never got an answer about why you like science fiction," she began, pushing the last of her food about her plate with fidgety little pokes, watching Malfoy from the corner of her eye. He arched a brow – god he was efficient at being scathing – and methodically chewed and swallowed before answering her. Hermione waited impatiently, listening to the background noise of other conversations and cutlery clinking on plates.

"I read Muggle science fiction novels –" Malfoy began, his eyes lifting to hers, cool grey and sooty-lashed. "– Because they're what my parole Auror _recommended_ I read."

"…Oh." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I…see." The blatant reminder that his trial had resulted in a 'guilty' verdict, and a year of house arrest before being released on parole, made her insides feel all strange and sickly squirmy, and the power of speech abandoned her. Malfoy smirked, the bastard, as she stared at him helplessly, at a loss for words.

"No, seriously, Granger, I did start reading sci-fi because it was strongly recommended to me as part of my…" He paused and actually looked a little uncomfortable himself now. _Good._ "…Rehabilitation. But I kept reading it because I enjoy it. Muggles are so…_inventive_."

"Hmmph." Hermione wasn't impressed, and her snort expressed that eloquently. _Inventive_, he said, as if Muggles were trained chimps and he was condescendingly surprised at what they could accomplish.

"Salazar's _sake_, Granger, why do you have to take everything I say the wrong way?"

She shot him a _look_, prim and disbelievingly snarky at once. "You actually have to ask me that again, Malfoy? You're sure you _want_ to ask me that?"

"Fine, _fine_. I was a bastard to you, and now you despise me. Fair enough," Malfoy said shortly, all lines of tension under the perfectly-tailored drape of his teaching robe, shoulders stiffening and chin ducking – drawing in on himself visibly. As if he was shielding himself from the brunt of her words. "But if despising me is what you want to do, then please for the love of Merlin, stop blowing hot and bloody cold with me. I haven't the time, or the inclination, to deal with your mood swings."

Hermione flinched back in her chair as Malfoy turned his face away. Christ, what was wrong with her? If he had always said things the wrong way in the past, she had taken over that role now. She felt terrible as she stared at the taut line of his mouth, the way his lips pressed so tightly together and trembled just faintly. She berated herself mentally, and then offered them both a dignified way out.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. That was unfair of me. And, I – don't despise you." She was almost certain that was true as she eyed the lines of strain carved around his mouth, and the way his eyebrows were scrunched down in a way that was amazingly expressive and read: _miserable_. "Will you tell me what you _do _mean by 'inventive'? Please? I promise I shan't snap your head off again."

"The Wizarding World is all about tradition," Malfoy said quietly, not looking at her, and Hermione's shoulders slumped slightly as she released a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding. "It's about clinging to the past, to the time when we were _great_. Greater than we are now, anyway. That's part of what – what –" He struggled, throat working as he tried to get the name out – his cheeks going ashen while the tips of his ears flushed red – and finally gave up. "– What you-know-who wanted – to obliterate all the Muggleborns and blood traitors that represented what _he_ thought of as the Wizarding World's decline. The slow decay, the tainting slide from greatness."

Hermione nodded encouragingly as Malfoy shot a cautious sideways glance at her. "Go on." She was fascinated, hearing him talk as if to himself about this; musing aloud, hesitant and thoughtful as he shaped the words.

"But one of my parole Aurors told me that the clinging to tradition wasactually the _problem_. That the Wizarding World, for all its magical power, was busy stagnating and declining – while Muggles, despite their lack of magic, were using their vision and inventiveness to claw their way forward." Malfoy still refused to look at Hermione, and now the flush of red on his ears was spreading as though he were embarrassed to be telling her this. "He told me to compare wizarding fiction to Muggle science fiction." Malfoy fiddled with his napkin. "The Muggle interest in reaching out and grasping at even just an _idea_ of the future is so different to wizarding fiction. _That's_ all about the past; retellings of the old tales and legends, or of modern-day wizards and witches travelling back to the past."

"The Wizarding World is _hopelessly _old-fashioned," Hermione agreed mildly. "Although to be fair, the Muggle world does have a whole genre of historical fiction."

"It's not the _only _genre though," Malfoy pointed out, finally glancing at her for the first time since he'd started talking, his cheeks still flushed pinker than usual.

"No, that's true of course," Hermione said, and Merlin's _pants, _was she having a genuinely civil conversation with Draco Malfoy, wherein they were actually _agreeing_ with each other? She pinched her thigh discreetly, and it hurt. Not a dream, then. Malfoy was talking and she shook herself and paid attention.

" – Not just fiction. Technology-wise, Muggles _far_ outstrip the wizarding world already. Muggles could even possibly use technology to _beat_ magic. Bullets travel faster than spells, after all."

"_Really?_"

"Well _yes_, Granger. Or did you think you would be able to dodge bullets as easily as you can dodge spells? _No._ As humorous as it would be to watch I wouldn't recommend you try it, because you would _fail_." Malfoy's expression was smug, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at him with a sarky sneer.

"Anyway, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, I am aware of that –" he said self-deprecatingly. "– But science fiction novels were the catalyst that brought me to the eventual realization that Muggles aren't lesser because of their lack of magic. Because they're _not_ lesser, just different – wizards may have magic, but Muggles have science and _technology_. And where technology can only advance as the understanding of the science behind it develops, magic _can't_, not in the same way. Or if it can, the Wizarding World has lost the knowledge of how to advance it to any meaningful degree. So Muggles don't _need _magic."

"And besides, 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,'" Hermione ventured brightly, quoting Clarke, and Malfoy flashed even white teeth in a lopsided grin.

"Exactly, Granger."

"So we should have just owled Voldemort a selection of science fiction novels, then, and maybe a maybe a few non-fiction books on science and technology, and the whole war might have been avoided?" she asked Malfoy as she returned his grin, trying to politely ignore the way he flinched at Voldemort's name on her lips – his whole self shrank and blanched at the name, his cool eyes filling with fear and his lips whitening as he pressed them closed for a brief moment. Then he cleared his throat and summoned a faint, wry smile, the fear well-disguised, if not banished.

"No. I'm rather sure that beneath the blood-purity obsession, he was just utterly power-mad and bent on world domination. Giving him respect for Muggle science would have only given him ideas. You-know-who with an interest in nuclear weaponry…?" Malfoy was _teasing_ her, Hermione was sure of it, friendliness lurking behind his slightly condescending tone.

"Oh my god. _Not_ a good thing," she granted him lightly, and then at an embarrassed loss for anything to say, tapped her glass with her wand, filling it with icy water and taking a sip. The chilled water slid down her throat, cooling the slight heat of embarrassed awkwardness that suffused her for some reason. She sighed and pressed the glass to her cheeks, the condensation delicious on her skin. She pretended – probably not well – that she didn't notice Malfoy's sharp gaze still resting on her, and that it didn't make her feel all itchy and stifled in her own skin. Slytherin indeed; there was nothing sneaky about the way he seemed to be almost _assessing _her, Merlin knew _why_ though. Perhaps he was – justifiably – wondering if she was going to turn prickly and contemptuous at him again.

Then: "What do _you_ prefer to read?" Malfoy inquired a moment later, with an attempt at diffidence that failed terribly.

Hermione smirked.

"Historical fiction." She didn't see any need to add that it was actually historical _romantic_ fiction that was her guilty pleasure.

"Really?" he grilled her with a tone of amused disbelief, and she shrugged a shoulder, tucking a wave of hair behind her ear as she nodded.

"_Really_, Malfoy," she assured him, and then turned her attention back to the remnants of her meal, leaving him to stare at her with a strange expression that bordered on fascination.

Hermione and Neville left the Hall together after the meal's end, having gotten caught up in avid conversation over dessert about whether non-magical plants with medicinal qualities might have valuable applications in the Wizarding World. Hermione was absorbed in the topic, gesticulating expansively as she argued her point, keeping absently in step with Neville. A billow of black robes whisked closely past her, and she glanced up to see Malfoy retreating down the corridor; heading in the direction of the Muggle Studies classroom with his white-blonde hair catching flickers and flares of the torchlight. Her gaze stayed on him even as she kept talking.

"_Hermione,_" Neville interrupted as soon as Malfoy was out of earshot, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her over a pace to stand by the wall, students filing past them now. Hermione broke off her monologue and stared at her friend, puzzled by the shocked disbelief that saturated his tone. "_Hermione_, did you just have a civil conversation with Malfoy at dinner?"

"I…I suppose I did," she said with a vague smile, feeling somewhat surprised by that herself now that she thought about it, and more than a little pleased. "I did," she repeated, beaming at Neville. "Go me. Anyway," she began again, as she started off towards her rooms, Neville falling in at her side – his rooms were in the same direction as hers. "I wonder if you could infuse non-magical plants with magic by…"

**Breakfast**

Hermione smiled at both Neville and Malfoy as she slipped into her seat, hands smoothing over her hair and trying to tuck wayward, fluffy strands of it back into the bun she had it twisted into, secured by a Muggle pen thrust through the knot.

"Good morning," she greeted cheerily.

"Morning, Hermione," Neville beamed the endearing smile that had made him one of the most attainable bachelors in Wizarding Britain until he'd finally gotten up the courage to ask Hannah out, and took a great mouthful of porridge. She settled her robes about her neatly and poured a cup of fresh, delicious coffee, inwardly half-waiting for Malfoy to acknowledge her. They were officially capable of friendliness now, and managed to exchange pleasantries at most mealtimes…along with the occasional bit of snark.

"You're in a good mood," Malfoy said at last in a sleep-soaked, drawly sort of voice, and mortifyingly Hermione's breath caught and stomach flipped at the husky, sleepy sound of him – before she looked over and reminded herself that _ew,_ it was _Malfoy_. Leaning back in his seat with his impossibly long legs stretched out beneath the table and his teacup cradled between both hands, hair mussed in a way that made him look younger than he was, his grey eyes tired but friendly. Perhaps she should take Ginny up on her offer of setting Hermione up on a blind date. It had been far, far too long if Malfoy's morning voice was even vaguely appealing. Even if it had been…she shook herself briskly.

"I _am_." Hermione reached for her usual selection of fresh fruit, burying it all beneath generous dollops of Greek honey yoghurt, pausing in the burying long enough to flash a brief, excited smile at Malfoy. "Only a week of term left and then it's the _holidays_."

"Hah." His lips curved up in lazy amusement. "I thought you _loved_ school, Granger."

"Well…I did – _do_... I've just found that teaching classes is much more stressful than attending them, and dear Godric, I need a break before I _snap_ and murder the little idiots." She groaned and jabbed at a chunk of _something_ hidden by yoghurt, warming to her rant. "I understand now why Snape was such a complete and utter bastard. I _sympathise_ with him. With Snape. God, that's unnatural. But the flagrant _idiocy_ of some of them…honestly, I don't how they remember to _breathe_, let alone use magic."

"I feel your pain," Malfoy said, as Hermione discovered the mysterious yoghurt-covered chunk was – _mmm, persimmon. _"Although I didn't think I'd ever hear _you_ calling a dead war hero unflattering names." Hermione stared at him, forgetting to chew her persimmon in her embarrassed horror, mouth hanging ajar. Malfoy reached out and nudged it shut with a finger on the underside of her chin, and she flinched away, scrubbing at where he'd touched. The skin tingled irritatingly. She chewed and swallowed hastily enough to near choke, while he watched her with an arch, smug amusement.

"Shut up Malfoy!" Hermione got out as fast as possible, and he chuckled at her. Her cheeks flamed up. "Snape might have been a war hero, but he was still a horrid teacher." She glared at Malfoy. "You're just trying to embarrass me."

"_Succeeding_ in embarrassing you," he corrected and she made an inarticulate growl of frustration. He tapped her fist with light fingers and a wry look, and she relaxed the death grip she hadn't realised she'd had on her fork. "Calm down, Granger. I'm only teasing. Snape _was_ a right bastard, when he wanted to be."

"Just not to _you_," she mumbled low enough that she didn't think he could hear – it _still_ irritated her that Malfoy had essentially gotten a free pass with Snape throughout most of their time at school. Then louder and a rather indignant: "At any rate, you _git_, I'm looking forward to some time to relax without classes to teach, which was why I _was_ in a good mood before _you_ ruined it."

He snorted very softly and she pinned a Glare of Death – scrunched brows and sternly pursed lips – on him, and watched his lips twitch and curve and break into a completely involuntary smile. "Sorry, Granger. Very rude of me."

"Hmmph." She stuck her nose up in the air and turned her attention to her breakfast, prim and haughty. She ignored the highly-entertained way Malfoy was watching her and chuckling, as _he_ drank his tea with perfect poise, and _she_ accidentally dribbled out some yoghurt as a grape tried to go down her throat whole and murder her. Life wasn't _fair._

**Lunch**

"So, where are you heading off to?" Malfoy asked Hermione as she waved a last goodbye to Neville, who was going to Hannah's for the holidays, and then taking the witch to his Gran's for Christmas. She suspected Neville might be planning to pop the question, and had wished him luck and given him a tight hug when he'd left. She glanced up at Malfoy, startled by his sudden appearance at her side. He wasn't in teacher's robes now that school was over, but dark dress trousers, and white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. Her eyes went immediately to the faded Mark there on the pale skin of his arm, before she forced her gaze up to his eyes, which had gone sharp and horrified, as though he'd only just realised his Mark was on display. Hermione shrugged and made herself smile at him, taking great effort to keep her tone normal.

"Lunch, I suppose."

"You're not going away for the holdiays?" he asked, trying to sound normal, his voice tight with strain, but shot through with genuine surprise that she wouldn't be in great demand. Hermione shook her head, and then sighed and winced at him as he fumbled at his sleeves, a pang of sympathy rising up in her.

"No, not really. And for Merlin's sake, just leave it, Malfoy," she ordered as if she were Mrs Weasley bossing the children around, slapping at the hand Malfoy was trying to unroll his stubborn sleeve with, without even thinking twice about it. "I've seen it now, and it's not like I didn't know it was there." He ignored her and she had to actually grab his hand – her fingers curling around his warm ones – and yank it down. "Honestly, you're just being irritating. Leave it."

For a wonder, he actually did as she said. He stood there staring at her – in her jeans and stripy jersey with her teacher's robes open over top – looking nervous and bristly enough that she thought anything she said might set him off into a retreat or a snit, but he left his sleeve rolled up. His hand rhythmically made a fist and relaxed at his side over and over again, but she tried not to look at his arm and he forced a small smirk onto his lips.

"Not going off to spend Christmas at the Weasleys'?" There was a bite to his tone as he asked it, which Hermione ignored as she began in the direction of the Great Hall.

"Come on, Malfoy. Lunch." She looked up at Malfoy as he fell into pace beside her and stuffed his hand into his pocket in a way that tucked his arm to his body and hid the Mark. "And yes, actually, I will be seeing the Weasleys' for Christmas; I just won't be staying with them throughout the hols. I'll be staying here."

"What about your parents?"

"They're away on a cruise, this year." She felt her chest knot up slightly but kept her tone even and casual. "They never could quite forgive me for altering their memories, especially considering there were a lot that couldn't be – couldn't be restored."

"I'm sorry," Malfoy offered quietly and Hermione waved off his apology as they meandered up the length of the Hall.

"It's fine. Things are…improving. But at any rate, staying with them was out, and the Burrow's so _crowded_ and Ron always tries it on with me at least once, so I thought I'd just stay here. Enjoy the peace and quiet." She grinned and warmth suffused her at the thought of Christmas Day at the chaotic Burrow, filled with people and love and _madness_, and of Ron's firewhiskey-induced attempts to flirt with her even though they both knew it'd never work out. It was nice for a day, but no more than that.

"What about you? Are you going home?" she asked without thinking, and then remembered it was _Malfoy_, who lived in the _Manor _that she'd had nightmares about up until a few years ago, who had a Death Eater father that Hermione did _not_ think was truly repentant, and did she really _want_ to know what he was doing?

"I…yes, but just for Christmas day. Rather like you, the places available to me over the holidays are unfortunately less appealing than remaining at Hogwarts," he said stiffly as they rounded the High Table and took their seats, smiling and nodding to the few remaining teachers.

"Isn't that just _wonderfully_ depressing," Hermione answered, deliberately perky and too-bright, trying not to think of the Manor. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and harrumphed quietly to himself, fiddling with his left rolled up sleeve now. She beamed at him as she poured a tall glass of pumpkin juice, determined to be friendly and festive and distract herself from the depression that always surrounded the topic of her parents. "Well, at least we have each other, Malfoy."

"Salazar save me."

**Dinner**

"So what did you like most about living in the Muggle world?" Hermione asked, raising a curious and slightly worried brow at Malfoy, who had so far drunk four large glasses of faerie wine with his dinner. She was rather concerned he might fall down if he stood. It was four days after end of term and the atmosphere was oddly peaceful and festive, the Hall bright with touches of Christmassy festooning. Apart from Minerva, Sinestra, and Karl Milngavie, no other teachers were present at the High Table this evening, and the students' table were nearly empty with only fifteen having remained this year. Malfoy shrugged, and scowled at his dinner plate; most of his meal finished.

"My father refusing to lower himself to contacting me by Muggle means? It was rather nice, not having him constantly in my ear about–" He swore a quiet _fuck_ under his breath, cutting himself off rather belatedly and setting his wine glass back on the table, cheeks flushing. Hermione watched him with great interest. So, he wasn't on good terms with his father, then? She wasn't surprised, considering how much Malfoy seemed to have changed.

"The cinema. I liked the cinema," Malfoy began again, over-loudly, the lines of his face shaped with awkwardness. Hermione decided to be kind and not pick at him this evening; he looked so embarrassed and annoyed with himself. "Muggle films were very appealing. We don't have anything even close to that in the Wizarding World, after all. Television, too, but the films were more exciting. The – the big screen and all."

"What sort of films?"

"I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy. They were…quite good, although not as good as the books. Tolkien was –"

"A squib? Yes, I _know _that, Malfoy," she interrupted with an eye roll – perhaps she'd drunk a little too much tonight too. But it had only been two – no, maybe three – no…two glasses? She gave up on her calculations and smiled at Malfoy, pushing away her dinner plate and resting her chin in her hand. "What else did you like that you've seen recently?" Hermione had no idea what sort of movies Malfoy would like. It could be anything.

"I haven't been to the cinema lately, but I liked Kung Fu Hustle. Sin City. Er… Batman Begins, I thought was all right but not brilliant. War of the Worlds was watchable, although the main actor looked like he needs damn good hexing." He paused and his eyes hazed over as he thought. Then: "Serenity. That was extremely entertaining."

"Ahh." Hermione's cousin Sarah was utterly _mad_ for _Serenity_, and the show it had originated from, _Firefly._ Called herself a Browncoat, and protested television networks to get the show back on air or some such. Hermione had quite enjoyed the show herself, though not as much as Sarah. "And did the scope and vision of the Muggles who wrote the story interest you?" she queried, her tipsiness making her pert and pointed, and Malfoy laughed, the sound soft and shapeless with drink.

"It did, Granger. Very much so. And the themes behind it, the messages to it, were…thought-provoking." His hand strayed out and caught up his wineglass again, and he sipped at it unconsciously. "And you? What do you like?"

"I prefer books, to be honest. I don't go to films usually. But I saw the new version of Pride and Prejudice last year, which was quite good. Oh, and I went to see that Star Wars movie with Harry and Ron, when it came out."

"Revenge of the Sith?" Malfoy asked, an expression of distaste on his face at the mention of Harry and Ron, shifting to sprawl sideways in his seat so that he faced Hermione, ignoring the dishes of dessert that appeared on the table. _She _didn't, loading up her bowl with trifle, and blue jelly that was twinkling at her like starlight.

"Revenge of the Sith, yes, that was it. They basically _dragged_ me along to see it. It was all right, I suppose. The main character was really rather fit, at least up until he was crawling away from the lava at the end there, with all his limbs hacked off, and horribly burnt and…" Hermione wrinkled her nose at her trifle. Suddenly she wasn't so hungry.

"Ew, Granger," Malfoy said very seriously, although his eyes were light and happy. "Ew."

**Breakfast**

Hermione ate a _very_ small breakfast on Christmas Day; Mrs Weasley always prepared a feast, and pushed food on everyone like she did knitted sweaters and love. Hermione always felt like she left five pounds heavier than when she'd arrived. She was up bright and early, as this year she'd offered to help Mrs Weasley with the cooking, and the Great Hall was quiet and empty. She frowned to herself, looking down into her lap at the bright paper wrapping up the small gift she had for Malfoy. Hermione had been hoping he might rise early as well, but it looked like she would have to either leave the gift on his seat for him to discover, or give it to him tomorrow. She felt a bit stupid getting him anything at all, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, even if he _would_ probably scoff at it.

It was the thought that counted, right?

Hermione decided to seek Malfoy out and give the present to him tonight, if he was back from the Manor before bedtime. A sense of trepidation burgeoned in her at the idea of visiting Malfoy in his rooms, and she clutched a hand tightly around her token present as she drank down the remains of her coffee. As she stood however, she heard footsteps echoing in the Hall and looked up to see Malfoy approaching the High Table. Oh…good. She smiled and lifted a hand in a stupid little half-wave of acknowledgement, walking around the table to meet him.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Malfoy said with a smile as he stopped a pace in front of her, neat but casual in dark dress trousers and a charcoal knit jersey, a pale blue-grey oxford shirt visible beneath the jersey at collar and cuffs. He looked…nice. _Handsome_, just as she had thought when she'd first seen him at the feast at the start of the year. Only now his personality wasn't ruining it, and… She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her breath had tightened and her palms had started sweating when he'd said _Hermione_ like that. She thought that maybe they were friends? They must be, for him to use her first name. But…

"Hermione?"

"Merry Christmas," she said, and without thinking, _hugged him. _She stepped forward and put her arms around him for a brief, tight embrace – and he went stiff as a damn plank and his breath rushed in sharply. Hermione could have died. This was _Malfoy_ and whether he'd called her by her first name or not, they probably weren't close enough to merit hugs, not even two-a-penny Christmas hugs. But then the tension ran out of him, and his hand came up and patted her clumsily between her shoulder blades as he leant into her just a little. He was warm and solid against her, and smelt of expensive cologne, and her fingers tightened on his back, his chin bumped against her forehead, and her insides felt quite warm and contented. For a moment, the awkwardness went away.

But unfortunately almost as soon as the awkwardness went they were detaching themselves from each other, which was awkward in its own way. She was flushing pink and berating herself for hugging him and fumbling with his present, when he thrust something into her field of vision. A crisp white Muggle envelope.

"I – I –" Malfoy began with even more awkwardness – because they didn't have enough of that _already_ – and colour came flooding into his cheeks. "I got you this, for Christmas. It's…nothing, really. I just…well…"

"I got you a present too," Hermione interrupted with a smile, relief suffusing her at the knowledge that he obviously thought presents were appropriate. She shoved the package at him, swapping the crumpled-Santa-covered-wrapping-papered package for the expensive-looking envelope, sliding her finger along inside the fold of it to tear it open.

"Oh my god." She stared at the slip of paper she'd pulled out of the envelope, eyes wide. A voucher to a Muggle hairdresser. "Oh my god. _Malfoy!_" She stared up at him as he stared bemusedly down at the knitted cap she'd made him, which was _barely misshapen at all_, and a very nice Slytherin green. "Oh my _god_, Malfoy, this says 'a – a – a pampering experience valued at _five hundred pounds._'" He blinked at her and shifted uncertainly on his feet, hand crumpling nervously around the knitted cap.

"Is that…a problem?"

"_Five hundred pounds, _Malfoy! That's – that's – I can't accept it, it's too much!"

His face fell and Hermione huffed annoyance.

"Seriously, Malfoy, that's – I just – all I did was knit you a _hat!_ I can't –"

"_Oh_, it's a _hat,_" Malfoy mumbled under his breath, his voice full of dawning comprehension and relief as he turned the knitted cap over and squinted at it.

"_Malfoy!_" she screeched, not sure if she was more upset over the fact that Malfoy thought it was all right to spend _five hundred bloody pounds_ on her, or that he hadn't known her painstakingly knitted hat was indeed a _hat._

"I love it!" he rushed before she could really get going, his face all muddled with nervousness and stifled amusement, pulling the cap down onto his head, and…oh wow. Oh. Wow. Hermione's mouth snapped shut and she tilted her head to one side, needing a moment to really fully take him in. The cap itself was a little knobbly if she was honest, and not at all the sort of thing she would have pictured Draco Malfoy in, but… Oh Merlin's _pants_, he looked utterly bloody adorable, which was not a word she would ever have thought she'd use in regards to Malfoy. Somehow the – all right, clearly homemade – knit cap actually _worked_ with Malfoy's casually stylish clothes, although _how_, Hermione had no idea. She crossed her arms over her chest, rocked her weight back on one foot, and _grinned _at him.

"Perfect! …But I still can't accept the voucher, um…Draco. It's too much, honestly. I'd feel bad."

"Please take it. I wouldn't have given it to you if I didn't want to. And it's not like I don't have the money." Malfoy was pleading and earnest in his bright knit cap, the wrapping paper decorated with skating Santas crinkling quietly up in one long-fingered hand, his eyes wide and beseeching, clear starbursts of greys. "I want you to have it. Besides –" And he reached out and tugged gently on a lock of her long, admittedly rather untamed hair, which spilled down over her shoulders. Her scalp tingled in a nice way. "– You _need_ a good hair stylist."

"I –" Hermione wasn't sure whether to be offended, oddly complimented, or just hugely, hugely appreciative. She stared down at the voucher again, and temptation tugged at her as she imagined what kind of pampering £500 would pay for. Certainly a lot more than the usual plain trim she got from the cheap wizarding salon down Diagon Alley. "I – thank you, Draco. I appreciate it. It's very…thoughtful." It felt strange to call him by his first name, but he was calling her Hermione, and besides, it seemed a little odd to call someone who'd gifted you £500 by their surname. "I just wish I'd gotten you something…more." Her hand-knitted cap seemed a very poor present indeed, in comparison to his.

"No. I like it. A lot. I'm – I'm going to wear it today, in fact."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"No, honestly I _do_ like it, and I _will_ wear it. It's very…cosy. You – did you make it yourself?" Malfoy asked, lifting his fingers to touch the soft wool.

She scuffed the toe of her sneaker on the stone floor. "Yeah."

"You used to knit things for the house elves," he said, and she gave a muffled little laugh.

"I _did_. How did you know I knitted them myself?" A smile caught at the corners of her lips. Malfoy shrugged loosely, and then looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps – no doubt the students that remained at school were coming in for breakfast. The moment suddenly felt strained, as though they both want to finish the conversation before they were interrupted by clattering, chattering students, who would probably read things into _this_ that weren't there at all.

"For _months_ you were dragging knitting needles and wool with you everywhere you went, Hermione. I couldn't _help_ noticing, could I?" He bit his lip, and took a step back, toward his seat at the table as the sound of footsteps neared.

"I should probably go… I promised Molly Weasley I'd help her with the cooking and she wanted me there early…" she said reluctantly. He bobbed a little nod of agreement, hands shoved in his pockets and the atmosphere awkward once more. "Thank you again for the voucher, Draco. I hope you have a lovely day with your …family."

"Have…fun at the Weasleys," Malfoy answered her with equal awkwardness, and as she turned away she saw him reach up to touch the cap again, an odd gentleness in the skim of his long, elegant fingers over the pompom.

"Father is going to _kill_ me," Hermione heard him mumble ruefully, in a voice too low for him to have meant her to hear it, as he tugged the cap lower over his ears. She tucked the Muggle hairdresser's voucher in her deep cardigan pocket and grinned to herself, feeling absurdly pleased as she left the Hall to use the private floo in her rooms.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please review! Reviews are like marmalade on toast to me – heavenly! I swear to god I am going to keep this fic under 20,000 words as requested, so there's only one more chapter to go after this…and maybe a teeny, tiny epilogue… I'm not sure yet. Feed the muse with marmalade reviews :D

**Housekeeping notes: **As I noted on my last update of The **Just World Fallacy**, I'm going through **The Risk-Reward Ratio** and all my other Dramione fics, doing much-needed edits – fixing formatting issues, and proofreading to catch and sort out all the continuity issues, and grammar/typos/missing words and all that. Eventually I'll start replacing the chapters already on here with the new-improved versions, although I probably won't do that until I've finished **The Just World Fallacy**.

I'll also be putting up shiny pdfs for download too (in fact I've already put up an – unedited – pdf of **What He Requires**), which that will be linked to on my author profile, and available at Facebook dot com /theriskrewardratio

In pdf format, **The Risk'verse** will be reformatted into four fics as follows:

**"Gravitation"** \- [Law III: To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.]

**"****The Risk-Reward Ratio" **\- [Relationship of substantial reward corresponding to the amount of risk taken; mathematically represented by dividing the expected return by the standard deviation.]

**"The Just World Fallacy"** _(incomplete) - _[The cognitive bias that a person's actions always bring morally fair and fitting consequences to that person, so that all noble actions are eventually rewarded and all evil actions are eventually punished.]

"**Axiom" **_(planned) - _[1. A self-evident or universally recognized truth; a maxim: "Equity will not suffer a wrong to be without a remedy." 2. An established rule, principle, or law. 3. A self-evident principle or one that is accepted as true without proof as the basis for argument; a postulate.]

See you next chapter, my lovelies xx


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note:** I'm back! Here, have another update, and please don't kill me for taking so long between them – I swear I am _so sorry_ I'm so horribly sporadic with them. Life is getting in the way of fanfic at the moment. I love you all for sticking with me and keeping on reading, despite the infrequent updates. This chapter I tried extremely hard to channel sweet and fluffy for **Phnxgirl**, and have no idea if I succeeded or failed miserably. Let me know what you think :) I hope you all enjoy, and please 'scuse any mistakes - my proofread was a little rushed.

* * *

**۞ Part**** Three ۞**

**Lunch**

Hermione stared at the table before her – laden with so many delicious elf-made options – and groaned, slumping down in her chair. It was Boxing Day, and she hadn't even bothered dragging herself out of bed for breakfast – she had been gestating a food-baby by the time she had left the Weasleys' at just past midnight, and this morning her jeans had actually been a smidgen tight. It had been a wonderful Christmas, but Hermione thought she was ruined for food for at least a week. She _still_ felt full. Wrinkling her nose up, Hermione scooped some salad and a lightly battered fillet of fish onto her plate, and sat and stared blankly at it for a moment.

"I don't think I can eat," she said forlornly, rolling her head lazily to look at Malfoy just as he took his seat beside her. "Is _anyone_ hungry the day after Christmas dinner? I doubt it."

"Well _I_ am, actually," Malfoy said, contradicting her with an irritating bluntness, and heaped his plate with enough food that Hermione felt ill just looking at it all. Hermione had no idea how Malfoy ate so much and yet stayed so lean without seeming to exercise at all, but she was jealous; in the last year she had started having to watch what she ate to some degree or the weight slipped straight onto her hips.

"Didn't you get positively stuffed yesterday? I was _waddling _by the time I left the Burrow."

"No, not really." He looked down at his plate, and caught his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. His eyes were very grey and shuttered of emotion as he looked back up at her. "During the trials, after the war, the Malfoy house elfs were all given opportunity to choose between either being freed, or moving into service elsewhere. None of them chose to stay."

"Oh…?" Hermione murmured, clutching her hands together in her lap, feeling her back and shoulders stiffen as Malfoy mentioned the war. It was always a dangerous topic to bring up around her; especially at Christmas, where the family reunion was also a stark reminder of all the people they'd loved, who had died. All the empty spaces around the table were painful, like fingernails digging at an old, unhealed wound. She breathed deeply, showing no trace of her emotion on her face. Malfoy tried to smile at her as he went on, but the expression was wobbly and weak and all kinds of awkward, as he seemed to sense her discomfort.

"And no squib would ever work for the Malfoys in a servant's role, not unless they were paid more than my father's pride would allow. So Christmas dinner yesterday was…well, my mother isn't exactly a brilliant cook. She never had reason to learn to cook of course, and after the Ministry stripped away the elfs, she _refused _to learn." Malfoy paused, and Hermione didn't know if she should say something – and didn't know _what _to say if she did. _'Sorry, but I think your father deserved far worse than that, and your mother's a disgusting snob'_ might not work out too well, she thought, even if Malfoy didn't seem to be on good terms with his father. Thankfully he saved her by continuing, his voice strained and eyes glazed over as if he was remembering.

"So father does all the cooking…and he's utterly useless at it. My Christmas dinner was burnt turkey, charred potatoes, a variety of leathery vegetables, and father being a bastard." The remnants of Malfoy's now rather bitter smile faltered and fell away as he stared down at his plate.

"Oh…I'm – I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said helplessly, genuinely sorry for him but lost for words – especially considering she was trying to process the image of the magically-bound Lucius Malfoy swearing over a hot stove just like a Muggle. "That's…not very, er, Chrismassy." She thought she sounded like a right idjit, but from the grateful look Malfoy shot her, he seemed to appreciate the thought behind her poor attempt at sympathising.

"The Manor has never exactly been the most festive place, but nowadays it's awf–" Malfoy snapped his mouth shut with a horrified little sound as Hermione flinched in her chair, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks at the mention of the Manor as _'not festive'_, because talking about a bloody _understatement_. She felt dizzy, all of a sudden. Terribly dizzy, and sick – stomach rebelling, and limbs feeling numb and leaden. She swallowed thickly.

"No. No, festivity is _not_ what – what comes to mind when I remember the – the Manor," Hermione got out in a cracked voice, vaguely aware Minerva was looking in their direction and managing a smile for the Headmistress, waving away the old witch's concerns. It was just a panic attack – Hermione knew how to deal with those well enough. Malfoy was staring at her in horror, concern and guilt sketching his face in tight, ashen lines.

"Hermione? Merlin, I'm sorry, I should've…are you all right?"

"It's fine, I'm fine, I –" she tried to reassure him, but her voice was thin and quiet because it was getting rather hard to breathe. God, she hadn't had a panic attack when remembering the Manor in _years_. What was wrong with her? Then again, that could be because everyone knew never to mention it to her, or that day, with Bellatrix, and…and Malfoy had been right _there_, in the room, staring at her while she screamed, and…and that was a lot to deal with, okay?

"I just didn't think," he was saying worriedly, apologising and leaning forward to search her eyes intently, his all clouded and grey and guilty, and it was disconcerting to remember him as he had been, back then, and trying to reconcile the bigoted boy with who Malfoy was now was just…impossible. Hermione was just glad that only two students were present for lunch, and they didn't seem interested in the quiet drama unfolding at the teachers' table. She wasn't sure they'd even noticed.

"It's all right. I just need a moment," she got out in scarcely more than a whisper, and then realised with a start that her cold hand was folded up in his warm one, his thumb running over and over her skin in little swipes he meant to be comforting. She squeezed instead of shaking free, consciously trying to slow and control her breathing, fixating on the feel of Malfoy's thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, his fingers curling around hers. Physical touch was always grounding, Hermione told herself, as she clung tighter.

And then as she breathed slowly and deeply and told herself to be calm, the attack passed, leaving her blinking down at their hands entwined between them and feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet as she recovered her mental equilibrium.

"I didn't _think_," Malfoy said again, looking just a little bit frantic. "I'm sorry, I should've… I shouldn't have brought up, um, _home_, to you like that, but you asked and you've said that you're well past the war, and everything that came with it. And I just – I – I apologise, Hermione. Truly. I am truly so –"

"Did you wear the hat, yesterday?" Hermione interrupted, desperate to change the subject to something less raw and embarrassing, and Malfoy broke off his apologetic ramblings with a startled frown at her unexpected, unconnected question. And then he _grinned_, a lopsided, pleased kind of expression, his eyes lightening and crinkling at the corners.

"I did, actually. And mother asked me where I got it –" Hermione sensed from Malfoy's tone that Narcissa hadn't been impressed by it, and she harrumphed to herself. "– and when I told her it had been a Christmas present from Miss Hermione Granger, father threw a fit. Bigoted bastard." Malfoy said the last under his breath, a frown scrunching his brows together. He shifted his grip on her hand and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she realised they were still holding hands, for Godric's sake. She drew hers back swiftly, clearing her throat and flexing her warmed fingers as she shuffled around to face her salad and now-cold fish, trying not to feel weird.

"Your mother isn't so bigoted anymore then?" Hermione asked with a deceptively casual tone, and Malfoy made a small sound in the back of his throat, flashing her an uncertain look, as if he was afraid she would have another panic attack. She lifted an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go on as she sipped at her pumpkin juice.

"No. She's still a complete snob, but no, not half as bigoted. Father, on the other hand…" Malfoy looked tired, and sounded it too, as his thoughts turned to Lucius Malfoy. "He's only forty-seven, you know. He's got around a hundred years in him at _least_. And with his magic bound, restricted to the house, unable to associate with his old…friends…or make any new ones, he's miserable and makes sure everyone around him knows it – _vocally_. And I can't have nothing to do with him, because _that_ would upset mother, who doesn't deserve anymore stress. I can't even take over running the family business because it's the only thing father has left to him, but he keeps trying to run it as if he's still a…well, _you know_, which isn't helping business, and _that_ fact only serves to make him more hateful of the world in general."

Malfoy sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Hermione tried to imagine looking ahead to having a hundred years of Lucius Malfoy hung around your neck like a millstone, and couldn't. She picked at her salad fussily as she tried to come up with something to say, even less hungry now, after her embarrassing little _moment._

"Well, it's a hundred years in which he could change?" she tried hesitantly, attempting an optimistic perspective, and Malfoy gave her a _look_ that made her insides flutter warm; all fondness and gratitude. Hermione knew that he thought she was being hopelessly naïve to even suggest his father changing, but to his credit he didn't hint at that aloud. He just smiled at her, one hand absently straightening the position of his knife and fork at either side of his plate.

"My mother said she liked the hat," he offered after a brief silence, still smiling uncertainly. "And I do too. I've – I've never gotten a gift like that, before, Hermione." He took a little breath as if steeling himself, and met her eyes. "It means a lot," he said quietly, as if that was something very important, and Hermione smiled back at him, wide and happy. It was wobbly, the tentative bridge of friendship that they were building between them, but it seemed like it was getting sturdier, and Hermione thought she quite liked that.

"It was just a hat," she told him lightly with a shrug, embarrassed at all the appreciation, especially considering he'd spent _£500_ on her. She wondered what kind of _terrible_ gifts Malfoy had gotten in the past, that her plain hand-knitted cap with its lopsided pompom could apparently exceed them all.

"But I'm glad you like it," she added hastily, flashing him another quick smile. And then when their conversation petered out as they turned their attention to the food, Hermione, kept remembering the way he'd said it. _I've never gotten a gift like that before, Hermione. It means a lot._ Despite her embarrassment that appreciation made her feel very warm inside, and maybe just a little bit sad for him, too.

Hermione wondered idly when Malfoy's birthday was, and whether perhaps he'd like some hand-knitted socks. She was quite good at socks.

**Lunch**

All night and next morning, it snowed. Enough to leave a thick blanket of snow on the ground, and the students came in to lunch red-cheeked and noses running from the cold, worn out from their snowball fights. Malfoy asked her if she'd like to go for a stroll down by the lake after lunch, a badly hidden diffidence to his voice. Hermione told him _yes_ without even having to think about it, and then wondered immediately after when exactly it had been that they had gone from barely tolerating each other to this friendship. Because that was what it was; they were no longer just polite colleagues, but feeling their way through the process of becoming _friends._ But it didn't really matter _when_, just that they were, and that it made Hermione happy.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked as Hermione pushed away her cleared plate, and she looked up at him and stifled a laugh behind her hand. He'd already pulled on the knitted cap she'd made him and was smirking faintly at her – he looked ridiculous and undeniably adorable, and completely unlike his usual self. It suited him. Hermione grinned at Malfoy and nodded.

"Ready." Hermione stood up at the same time as Malfoy, both of them trying to exit via the gap between their chairs, which suddenly felt very narrow as she bumped into him. He was warm and very solid, and a squeak of surprise and discomfort escaped her lips as her breasts came in sudden, abrupt contact with his body.

"_Oh!_" she yelped because it had actually hurt a little bit, swaying back from the impact and nearly falling over into her chair like a clumsy idiot, her cheeks flaming up brilliantly. Malfoy's hand snapped out and seized her arm, keeping her on her feet but also pinned tightly to him. Hermione's breath wrenched in and she grabbed his shirtfront in reaction as she wobbled, nearly pulling them both over backwards and pressing their bodies flush together from knee to chest, her back arched slightly and Malfoy nearly falling onto her.

"_Fuck_, Hermione, hold _still_ and stop _thrashing_," Malfoy got out as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her upright with him – and then swore some more under his breath in a strangled voice that made Hermione's heart stop altogether for a moment, and then gallop twice as fast when it began again. She tried to jerk back. "_Hermione_." Frustration coloured his voice and Hermione's stomach flipped strangely.

"Oh _Godric_…" A tiny, whimpered gasp of mortification too low for Malfoy to hear properly escaped Hermione's lips as she heard Karl Milngavie chuckling at them, the _git_, and she was so hot-cheeked she thought she might spontaneously combust. Malfoy's chair slid back with a too-loud grating squeal as he steadied them both awkwardly, and desperately tried to separate them, his hands on her shoulders now and hers gripping his upper arms, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin. Her breath caught sharply again.

"I –" he began as he managed to step back and put some space between them. Hermione steadied herself and cleared her throat, brushing off her jersey and quickly side-stepping out of the now-wider gap between their chairs.

"…_Well. _Um…Merlin, I'm so clumsy sometimes," she rushed out, shooting a glare that threatened a slow and painful death at Karl as he snorted loudly. The Care of Magical Creatures teacher barely managed to choke down his next laugh, but his eyes crinkled and his lips twitched as he tried to hide the amusement he felt at Hermione and Malfoy's expense.

"No; my fault. Sorry –" Malfoy said abruptly, adjusting his hat busily; tugging on the tassels, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then his eyes widened and his cheeks pinked, and he shifted his stance with a low curse and turned away from her altogether. Hermione stared at his back with very wide eyes, mind stuttering on disbelief because _noooo_. Just…just…_no. _She had been around two hormonal teenage boys for long enough stretches of time in her teens that she knew exactly what that awkward, hunched shoulder, hands in pockets, turning away thingy meant. Her brain gabbled panic at her.

"Are – are we going, then?" Malfoy managed just a second later, glancing over his shoulder with still-flushed cheeks.

"Um. Er. Yes. Yes! Yes, we are," Hermione babbled like a fool, and wobbled out the most awkward smile ever.

"Have fun you two!" Karl warbled with a little wave, his tone all choked up with laughter, and Hermione groaned with embarrassment. Malfoy seemed to have finally regained his composure however, and just smirked, pinning the other man with a scathingly superior look over his shoulder.

"Oh we _will_, Milngavie," he said lightly in a voice saturated with meaning, low enough that no one else but Karl and Hermione could hear. "We _will._" And then he smiled down at Hermione, warm and affectionate. "Shall we?"

Hermione gulped and nodded wordlessly, her heart inexplicably lodged in her throat – perhaps from the embarrassment that was still roaring through her, reignited by Draco's teasing. He may have just been playing along with Karl, but it was _not_ fair. But she collected herself and tucked her arm through Malfoy's at his offer, letting him escort her out of the Hall as if he was some kind of old-fashioned gentleman, leaving a handful of curious students and an undignifiedly giggling Care of Magical Creatures professor behind.

For some reason Malfoy burst out laughing as soon as they were alone in the snowy landscape, and while he was caught off guard, Hermione pushed him down in a snowdrift.

**Dinner**

School was beginning again tomorrow, and Hermione had taken advantage of the last day of holidays _not_ by going over lesson plans again, but instead using her Christmas present from Malfoy. And oh Merlin, it had been _wonderful._ Apparently £500 purchased one quite an experience. The promise of pampering on the voucher had not been a lie; Hermione had never been so pampered in her _life_. She felt like a new witch, and had already been complimented by Minerva, Neville, Karl, and Aurora when she'd arrived at the High Table for dinner.

Her hair had been washed, cut to just beneath her shoulders, shot through with warm caramel and dark golden highlights, and styled into submission. It fell in shiny, bouncy waves around her face, and Hermione had been assured that the hair products she'd bought at the salon would help keep her hair this way. She had her doubts, but at least it looked very pretty for now. She fidgeted with the little silver otter dangling from the necklace she wore – her Christmas present from Ron, who had greatly improved the thoughtfulness of his gift-giving skills since their Hogwarts' days.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure you've triple-checked everything, and it'll all go smoothly," Neville said reassuringly, and she blinked and dragged herself out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't fret about tomorrow, I was saying," Neville repeated with a smile. "You look a bundle of nerves."

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip and her eyes darted discreetly across to Malfoy's empty seat beside her. She blushed. He hadn't seen what she'd done with the voucher yet, and she was rather nervous about what he'd think – after all, it had been his present to her, and… "Yes, I suppose I am a little preoccupied. You know me. I always want everything to be perfect." She couldn't meet Neville's eyes as she half-lied to him, and she could feel his gaze rest on her for a long moment before he hmm'ed doubtful agreement and let her be with a pat to her hand. There wasn't much for them to talk about – they'd gone out for butterbeer in Hogsmeade when Neville had arrived back yesterday evening, and swapped all their holiday news. And Hermione wasn't much in the mood for trying to sustain general light chatter – she really _was_ preoccupied. Just not about lesson plans. So she sat quietly and fidgeted.

The food appeared, heaped up on the table in front of their plates, and Hermione wondered if perhaps Malfoy wasn't going to be attending dinner. She frowned to herself as she forked some slices of roast beef onto her plate, unable to deny her twinge of disappointment. Which was frankly a ridiculous way to feel, because of course she'd see him first thing tomorrow morning at breakfast.

"You got your hair done," Malfoy said from out of nowhere halfway through the meal, and Hermione choked on a mouthful of mashed potato. She covered her mouth and wheezed and coughed, glancing over at him with watering eyes as he took his seat and gave her a mildly concerned look. "Sorry, did I startle you?" he asked faux-innocently, and she wheezed furiously at him, grasping half-blinded for her glass of pumpkin juice as the worst of the coughing passed. Tears streaked her cheeks and she had no doubt she looked red-faced and horrid, and when Malfoy thumped her on the back several times – trying to be helpful no doubt – she flailed him off and glared pointedly.

"Get – _cough_ – off me – _gasp – _you git – _wheeze _– you're not helping!" she got out, and when he left off, sipped shakily at her pumpkin juice. She nearly snorted one mouthful out her nose as another coughing fit seized her, but kept it down in the end. Thank Merlin, it soothed her throat and eased the last of her splutters, and she pressed the tall glass to her blotchy cheeks to cool them, the condensation icy on her skin.

"Sorry," Malfoy said, not sounding very sorry at all, his eyes raking over her, his expression shifting from amusement to something else before he veiled it with forced friendly neutrality. His voice was light and totally matter-of-fact. "You look beautiful, by the way."

Hermione _stared_ at him.

"_What?_" she said blankly before she could censor herself, and Malfoy just smirked infuriatingly and turned his eyes away, dishing up his dinner – still smirking faintly as he did. Hermione didn't know what on earth to say, so she didn't say anything; staring at her plate wide-eyed, unable to eat she was so distracted. But after a few minutes Malfoy leaned over toward Hermione – oh _god_, she could smell his cologne – and asked Neville a Herbology question. And with that to break the ice, normal conversation resumed for the rest of the meal. She felt like she could _sense_ an undercurrent of tension though, and it made her acutely aware of Malfoy, beside her.

Hermione told herself he was just being polite, or perhaps teasing her, but she wasn't so sure those reasons were very convincing anymore.

**Breakfast**

"Who's an adorable 'ittle baby, then? Who's just the biggest, cutest, cleverest 'ittle poppety-pie?" Hermione cooed with enthusiasm as she tickled baby James' fat, nearly-non-existent neck, just beneath his chin where he was most ticklish. He grinned toothlessly at her and reached out and snatched at her still rather lovely and well-behaved hair, grabbing onto a lock of it and pulling _hard_. Hermione winced and detached his hand, cooing some more at him about how _strong _he was. He burbled a laugh as Hermione contorted her face into the most ridiculous expression she could think of, and she looked up at James' parents, pleased that the five-month-old seemed to remember her from Christmas Day.

"He likes his Aunt Hermione, oh yes he does," she said half to James, and half to Harry and Ginny, who looked both deeply amused and disturbed by Hermione's abrupt devolvement into baby-talk.

"Of course he does," Harry said with a yawn and a smile, and then shovelled some more pancakes in his mouth unceremoniously. They were at The Three Broomsticks for breakfast, so Hermione could have a catch up with one of her favourite surrogate-nephews, and Ginny could get out of the house. Hermione thought that Ginny was beginning to get a bit of cabin fever – Harry was busy a lot with work, and although Ginny could go to the Burrow whenever she liked, that wasn't exactly relaxing. And the wizarding world wasn't very baby-friendly, so poor Ginny ended up just staying at home a great deal. She was looking a little peaky this morning – both of them were, actually – and Hermione guessed that James hadn't slept very well the night before.

"So are you still looking forward to going back to Quidditch?" Hermione asked, jiggling James absently and making him giggle. Ginny nodded, smiling wistfully at the mention of the sport.

"Counting down the months, actually. I do love being at home with James, but I _miss_ flying so much. And the Harpies miss _me_ too – and I want to keep it that way. I don't want them thinking they can do without me forever."

"How long did you end up taking maternity leave for? I know you told me but I can't remember. I swear to Merlin my brain is turning into a sieve." Hermione said to Ginny as she glanced up from snuggling James, who was currently trying to devour his fist, gumming furiously. Merlin, he was patently adorable – at the age where he was really starting to be able to interact. Hermione needed to make the effort to visit them more, she told herself. It was easy enough to apparate to their house from just outside Hogwarts' grounds, or have the floos connected.

"A year. I would have pushed it back to two, but that's too long to be away, and making it twelve months means that I'll get back to practice well before the next season begins. Mum's happy to mind James for us during the day, and except for matches my work hours are _somewhat_ flexible. So it should work out all right. I _hope_."

"It's wonderful that you've got your mum to mind him – it's _hard_ to find child-minders in the wizarding world, or so I've heard at least," Hermione said, awkwardly juggling her muffin and the voracious baby who was determined to grab at it, but was still _much_ too small to be eating double chocolate chip muffin.

"They don't have any," Harry piped up, wiping his mouth with his napkin, and then taking a sip of coffee to wash down his breakfast – his stack of pancakes demolished. "Well, not really. No nurseries or the like. Private nannies are available if you hunt around long enough, but mostly the wizarding world just assumes everyone has a huge family, house elfs, or no need to work. Which is just…stupid."

"Perhaps you should retire from Auror work and open a nursery when _I _go back to Quidditch then, Harry," Ginny suggested teasingly, automatically wiping a smear of maple syrup off Harry's chin with one spit-damped thumb. He batted her hand away with a disgusted expression and Ginny laughed at him and flipped her long hair over her shoulder with a wide grin.

"Maybe I will," Harry said faux-indignantly. "I'd make a bloody brilliant child-minder."

"Oh really?" Ginny inquired in a tone saturated with disbelief, leaning in toward Harry, elbow on the table as she rested her chin in her hands, Hermione and James temporarily forgotten.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Harry kissed his wife on the nose, and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a fond little smile. "Anyway, back in a minute, Gin. Off to the loo." He disappeared off into the back with a dorky grin and silly little wave for James, who remained unimpressed with his father – too busy gnawing industriously on his fist.

"Is he teething, Ginny?"

"Hmm?" Ginny blinked, pulling her eyes away from where Harry had gone. God, the pair of them were sickeningly sweet still. "Oh, um…I'm not sure, actually. He's been chewing on his wee hands a lot lately, but other than that he hasn't shown any signs of teething – and he's probably a little a bit young yet." Ginny yawned and rubbed her hands tiredly over her eyes. "I think maybe he's just found his fists."

"Well in that case he's cleverer than his father," a familiar voice said in a superior sort of tone, and Hermione and Ginny both jerked their heads up to stare at Malfoy, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Ginny gave him a _look_ that was caught between utter confusion and minor irritation, with an undercurrent of bottled-up laughter.

"That…doesn't even make any _sense_, Malfoy," she said with laughing annoyance. Malfoy smirked archly.

"Rather like your husband, then?"

"Draco!" Hermione cried, prodding him in the shin with her shoe and giving him a half-horrified frown. He smiled down at her, eyes crinkling at the corners, unperturbed and rather too handsome in charcoal dress trousers and light grey-blue jersey over a crisp grey shirt…and Hermione's slightly misshapen green knitted cap. Hermione had been able to tell the exact moment Ginny noticed the cap; it was the way the redhead's eyes had gone wide and she'd suddenly had to stifle giggles that had given it away.

"Hermione," was all that he said, still smiling beatifically at her. "And this must be…James?"

Ginny gave Malfoy a suspicious sort of look, seeming rather flustered by Hermione's behaviour toward him, and nodded. "That's right."

Ginny eyed Malfoy carefully as he bent and took a good look at James, leaning in so close over Hermione that she could feel his body heat and smell his cologne. _Too close_, she thought as her heart skipped and raced like mad, and her…discomfort…made her breath distinctly _not_ even. Draco lifted his cool eyes from examining little James to skim his gaze over Hermione's face as her breath came unsteadily. He looked into her eyes, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing kind of smirk. _Oh. _Her stomach flipped and her chest went tight – she pressed her thighs hard together as a throb made itself suddenly, insistently known between them.

Oh _Merlin_, Hermione thought frantically, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, eyes locked to Malfoy's as she did so. Malfoy's breath hitched and his pupils swamped his eyes, blotting the pale grey with black, and he hovered there scant inches away from her as though he wanted to just snap and _kiss _her. As though he was debating whether or not to…Hermione lost her train of thought as his hand came up and his fingertips brushed feather-light over her shoulder.

Then James bashed Malfoy in the face with one flailing, saliva-coated fist.

It was a direct hit to Malfoy's left eye, and he jerked back in surprise and clutched his saliva-wet, injured eye, barely biting back a very bad word. Hermione gasped and let out a half-hysterical giggle despite herself as she shifted her grip on James, who seemed to have given himself a fright with his attack, and was beginning to whimper slightly. Draco turned a lone baleful eye on her, wiping the baby saliva out of the other one.

"Cute. I see he takes after his Aunt Hermione."

"Here, I'll take him, Hermione." Ginny stood and leaned over the table, scooping the fat, wriggling baby into her arms and planting a light kiss on his forehead. "Potters – one, Malfoys – still zero."

"Oh…Merlin, Ginny! Don't –" Hermione began to huff, defending Malfoy automatically – and then embarrassment swept up over her at the knowing look Ginny gave her; all raised eyebrow and silent smugness. The younger witch's look managed to poignantly communicate that she had _seen_ the almost-kiss, and had recognised it for what it was. Hermione stumbled over her words, flustered. "Let's not encourage a continuation of the feud," she said weakly, and Ginny gave a smirk worthy of Malfoy – who had just finished wiping his eye with a hanky, and stood there awkwardly, cheeks faintly pink, seeming to be avoiding looking in Hermione's direction.

"All right then. No feuding," Ginny said sweetly to Hermione, before turning to Malfoy with a wicked grin. "Would you like to join us, Malfoy?"

His eyes flicked to Hermione as if for permission before he answered Ginny, and she couldn't help but drop her eyes, seized by a sudden mortified shyness. She was still reeling from the fact that Malfoy had nearly _kissed_ her – she was _sure_ of it, and she needed some time to process that and figure out what in Merlin's name it _meant_ before she sat down and had breakfast with him, Ginny, Harry, and James. Her face felt horribly hot and she had to resist the urge to kick Ginny under the table for inviting Malfoy, or to flee before things got even _more_ awkward. She buried her face in her coffee, pulse thundering, hot all over and still trying to quell the arousal that Malfoy's near-kiss had provoked in her. _God_, please let him say no, she begged silently.

"Thank you, but no," Malfoy said politely to Ginny, and Hermione risked a glance up at him. He was shifting uncomfortably, his left hand was clenched into a fist – something Hermione knew he did when he was uncomfortable – and his cheeks were still faintly touched with colour. "Perhaps another time. I have a breakfast date with my mother, actually."

"Right," Ginny said with a direct casualness that was strikingly at odds with Malfoy's pained formality, and her eyes sparkled with suppressed mischief. "Maybe you and Hermione can come over to Grimmauld for dinner some time."

Hermione hissed wordlessly under her breath, narrowing her eyes at Ginny and poking her under the table, glaring at the unrepentant redhead. Malfoy looked stiff and trapped standing there under Ginny's teasing eyes, and his jaw clenched and relaxed before he spoke.

"Maybe." He shrugged, obviously trying to reply lightly but it came out sounding quiet and uncertain, his gaze flicking to Hermione nervously. Ginny's expression went from wickedly teasing to slack and shocked. "I'm not sure if Potter and I could survive being in the same room together for the length of an entire dinner without flinging hexes, though." Malfoy recovered himself admirably, but it was too late. Ginny wasn't stupid.

"I –" she began, but thank _Merlin_ for good timing; James took that very moment to burst into grouchy cries, facilitating Malfoy's swift escape.

"Potter," he said with a nod to Ginny. And then he smiled at Hermione – one of those lovely, genuine smiles, completely unguarded and shockingly sweet. "Hermione." Somehow he managed to imbue her name with a wealth of meaning. "I'll see you later."

"Um…er, yes. See you later, Draco," Hermione stumbled out weakly, and then he was gone – retreating to safety as quickly as he could at a walking pace, the pompom on his hat bobbling as he disappeared through to one of the private back parlours. Hermione pressed her folded up hand to the centre of her chest and slumped back in her chair as she took a deep shaky breath, trembling from nerves. Ginny leant forward in her chair to turn an accusing, excited glare on Hermione, nearly squashing poor James who was nestled at his mum's breast, feeding contentedly.

"Merlin's great hairy balls, Hermione! You – you and _Malfoy?_ I knew you were friendly, but…Godric's _sake_, you could cut the tension with a_ knife._"

"I –"

"I thought you two were going to start going at it on the table right then, if not for James being in the way. _Seriously_, Hermione – _Malfoy?_ And you didn't even tell me!" Ginny babbled, flailing a hand agitatedly. "Some friend you are! How long have you been hiding it? I know Harry doesn't know – he's utterly awful at keeping secrets from me."

"Ginny…" Hermione tried as soon as she could get a word in edgewise – filing away the fact that anything she told Harry would most _definitely_ be told to Ginny. "Ginny, there's nothing going on between Malfoy and I. At least…I thought there wasn't. We're not…in a secret relationship or anything ridiculous like that."

Ginny gave Hermione a doubtful look. "Hermione, you know I'm not overly keen on that git, so when I say this, I _mean_ it: If there isn't anything going on between you and Malfoy, there bloody well should be. _Merlin_, Hermione. Malfoy or not, I don't even _care_. Just go rip his damn clothes off," she said emphatically in her usual refreshingly blunt way, fanning herself exaggeratedly with one hand and grinning.

"W – what?" The two women jerked their heads around to see Harry stood there by the table, a worried frown furrowing his forehead. "Ginny, you want Hermione to go and rip _whose what _off?"

"Oh god. Please, just don't ask, Harry," Hermione said firmly, running her hand through her hair in frustration, wishing she could crawl under the table and _die_. She snatched her bag up onto her lap and her eyes checked the clock. They'd all eaten, and James was drifting off to sleep now – perhaps Hermione could plead off and escape back to her quiet rooms at Hogwarts.

"Well now, the problem is that I _distinctly_ heard my lovely, clearly _mad_ wife tell you to rip _Malfoy's _clothes off," Harry said tightly as he sat down beside Ginny and directed a pointed look between her and Hermione, his nose crinkling up with anticipatory disgust. "And thus I kind of feel that I _have_ to ask."

"Oh my _god._" Hermione sank her head into her hands and then stood abruptly, handbag clutched tightly in her hands like some kind of lifeline. "No, no, I am _not_ talking about this, Harry. _No_. Ask Ginny if you _must_ know what depraved things she's suggesting and why – I'm going to go and do something nice and safe, like finish marking the fifth year essays." Hermione smiled warmly at them and said goodbye in a flurry of hugs and kisses, not allowing either Harry or Ginny a chance to protest her sudden exit. And then she spun on the spot with the telltale pop of apparition, landing with a gasp on the grass just outside Hogwarts' bounds.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm not entirely happy with the end of the last scene, but after a dozen revisions I decided this would just have to do. I hope I've managed to achieve a natural progression to their relationship ::crosses fingers:: If you enjoyed it, please tell me so in a review - I do love those XD One last chapter before the end…


	4. Part Four

**Author's Note: **Thanks you so much to all those reading and reviewing! I appreciate your feedback so much! Please note that the final scene "**Dessert**" deserves an M-rating, imo. It is not necessary to read it however if you're not keen on smut; the story's official end is actually the scene before it.

Now on to the final part of this fluffy little story! I hope you all enjoy :3

* * *

**۞ Part Four ۞**

**Lunch**

Hermione didn't go to lunch in the Hall; she ate in her rooms like a coward instead, her mind racing madly in leaps and bounds, racing in circles chasing its own tail. Her – rather excellent – memory dredged up every significant interaction between her and Malfoy since she had started being polite to him, and in hindsight it was blatantly clear. Blatantly, painfully clear. They had been _flirting_. She and Malfoy had been flirting all this time, and she had developed _feelings_ for him that went beyond the platonic. And although Hermione wouldn't be willing to bet on it, it seemed very much as though Malfoy had developed a similar attraction to her. In fact, she was rather certain of that. Oh dear _Merlin_, this was not what she had wanted from her first year of teaching at Hogwarts.

It was _Malfoy._ The horrid boy, the Death Eater, the colleague she sat next at every meal and bickered with, the complicated, sarky, unexpectedly sweet man that she had become friends with. The man whose father wanted to see Hermione dead, and whose mother thought she was lower than dirt. Hermione stared with unfocused eyes down into her barely-touched soup. It was _ridiculous_. He couldn't…

But Hermione remembered very clearly the way Malfoy had looked at her in the Three Broomsticks, leaning down, so close to her she could smell his cologne, his pupil-swamped eyes locked hard to hers, his fingers just barely grazing her shoulder and yet making her shiver all over. She had wanted to kiss him so badly. And it was more than just a brief flash of chemistry – it was so damn much more than that. She just hadn't realised until now. Hermione's breath escaped her on a juddering groan and she dropped her spoon back in her soup in frustration. She retreated to the little couch before the fireplace, curling up on the soft leather and staring into the flickering fire, her chin resting in the cup of one hand.

It was undeniable, Hermione realised, sitting there on her couch before the scorching heat of the fire, soup abandoned on the table behind her: she had gone and fallen for Draco bloody Malfoy.

So…what was she going to do about it?

**Dinner**

Hermione avoided meals for going on four days, visiting Minerva that first evening as the Headmistress drank a cup of coffee that she suspected might have been laced generously with firewhiskey. She pled fatigue, and generally not feeling quite well, as her reason for staying away and eating in her rooms. Minerva raised a sceptical eyebrow at that, but could do nothing about it; while teachers _were_ expected to attend a certain percentage of meals, Hermione had exceeded that number so far this school year and the Headmistress had no real reason to inquire further. That didn't, however, stop her from doing so.

"You're still well enough to teach, Hermione, so what exactly is the issue?" The much older witch pursed her lips and pinned Hermione with a sharp look. "Is this about Mr Malfoy? Has he…been bothering you in some way?"

Hermione was rather certain she wasn't imagining the humour hidden in Minerva's age-paled eyes, and twitching around her wrinkled mouth. She looked down at the floor, feeling exposed, and indignant with it. So the Headmistress knew too. How mortifying – but not entirely surprising. "No, no he hasn't been bothering me. I simply…would like to have some peace and quiet with my meals."

"Because the holidays were _so_ strenuously chaotic at mealtimes?" Minerva asked pointedly, with an openly knowing smile, and the image of the almost-empty Hall flashed through Hermione's mind. She flushed. "Very well, Hermione," Minerva relented in her line of questioning with a hint of kindness, and a dismissive wave of her hand. "Do as you please."

"Thank you, Minerva. I shall." As Hermione turned to leave the Headmistress' office, Minerva's voice calling her name stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder at the stately witch, seated where Dumbledore once sat, and filling the role admirably.

"One piece of advice, if I may act as though I am your Head of House once more, Miss Granger." Minerva smiled dryly, before continuing: "You can't avoid awkward situations forever. And unfortunately, that has a tendency to just make the situation worse." Hermione frowned slightly. She knew very damn well that she couldn't hide forever but she wanted some time to sort through the bewildering array of feelings that had emerged, and she didn't think there was anything wrong with that. She inclined her head respectfully to her old Head of House, though.

"Thank you, Minerva. I'll keep that in mind."

She ate her dinner and every other meal thereafter in her rooms, and avoided Malfoy in the corridors like a ninja.

**Breakfast**

When she finally emerged for breakfast after going on four days in hiding, Hermione wore dark grey trousers, a pale blue silk blouse, and sensible ankle boots, with her voluminous teaching robes over top hiding what was beneath anyway. It was the usual sort of attire that she wore during term time. She wasn't going to dress any differently just because she and Malfoy had some kind of highly inappropriate feelings for each other, and because she had decided what she was going to do about it.

She stared in her mirror, feeling a little frantic. Hermione didn't even know Hogwarts' regulations regarding teachers associating with each other romantically – there were probably all sorts of rules. Panic was seizing her in rushes and flushes, and she felt like an idiot. She had been lucky enough to never have any kind of _strong_ feelings toward a colleague before. Office romances – weren't they said to be a bad idea? Well. It was too late – she'd already made up her mind. She felt like she was preparing to fling herself off a cliff, and she very much hoped she hadn't misread Malfoy, and he would be ready to catch her.

Her throat was dry, and her heartbeat was going at Olympic – and frankly quite worrying – speeds. Her hair was still behaving quite well so she left it down – the easier to hide any mortified blushes behind if, or rather _when_ things got awkward with Malfoy. She made sure to arrive to dinner early, so she could steel herself for Malfoy's arrival before he appeared, dragging Neville along with her as a human shield just in case he had decided to be there early too. Luckily Neville was an early riser, and had already been up, pottering about in the greenhouses cheerfully. They chatted about light topics as they made their way to the Hall.

"Honestly, Hermione, you're acting completely neurotic," Neville said kindly, as she lost her train of thought halfway through a sentence for the fourth time since they'd sat down. "So you like Malfoy – really, what's wrong with that? Nothing! It's hardly the end of the world."

"I am going to _murder_ Harry for telling you," Hermione muttered darkly to herself, poking her spoon neatly into line with the edge of her placemat with one fingertip. Harry had been horrified to hear from Ginny that his best friend and the younger Malfoy had had a _moment_ at the Three Broomsticks. When – after his initial firecall in which Harry said unwise things that had irritated Hermione greatly – she had refused his subsequent, multiple firecalls by way of using an _aguamenti_ charmto put out the fire, he'd firecalled Neville.

Harry had apparently related the situation and spouted some nonsense to Neville about looking out for Hermione and making sure Malfoy didn't hurt her, Neville had relayed with a small, embarrassed smile. _Ridiculous_. What did Harry think this was? The 1950s? "He had no right." She glowered at the world in general, feeling rather sullen about Harry's terrible behaviour. She'd already sent him a Howler, but received no apology yet.

"I'm sorry, Hermione – I would have told him not to tell me, only if I'd known he shouldn't have told me then I'd already have known, wouldn't I, and…" Neville said without pause for breath, face worried and hangdog, and Hermione instantly felt badly for him, being shoved in the middle between them all.

"Calm down, Neville, please. It's fine; it's not your fault that Harry went and blabbed to you." Hermione gave Neville a reassuring nod and tried to smooth away her frown with her fingertips sweeping over her forehead, and smiled at him, albeit tiredly. "But please don't try to play matchmaker. What happens – or doesn't happen – between Malfoy and me is _our_ business unless we should share it and _invite_ opinion. And a firecall from Harry is _not_ –" She broke off, her head jerking to the side and her eyes widening with badly hidden shock.

"Draco." She said his name in a blank tone like an _idiot_ and stiffened in her chair, coming over half-faint with nerves and embarrassment as he sat down in his seat with a nod to her and Neville. He _had_ to have heard some of what she'd said. Hermione clenched her fists hard in her lap, wanting to sink into the floor.

"Longbottom. Hermione." He _sounded_ completely normal, even if he looked somewhat cool and distant in his perfectly-tailored black teachers' robes, his features set in neutrality. "Good morning."

"Morning, Malfoy," Neville greeted him with a nervy kind of grin, and then shuffled his chair an inch or two away from Hermione, as if abandoning her to Malfoy. Hermione couldn't really blame him for wanting to extricate himself from the situation though – _she_ would quite like to do that herself, if it were possible. Unfortunately it wasn't part of the rough plan she had plotted out in her head. A plan that Hermione seemed incapable of implementing. Of course. She sat silently staring at her still-empty plate instead, bar occasional peeks at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye, her palms sweating, so _aware_ of his presence. It was so _stupid_ – she felt like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.

The breakfast meal appeared, a magnificent spread that weighed down the table to creaking as always, and Hermione sighed. She really wasn't hungry right now. She put a dry bit of toast in the very centre of her plate, and shot a sneaky glance at Malfoy. By a stroke of bad – or was it good? – luck, he was looking at her, and they stared at each other for a frozen moment. Then a smile curved his mouth into a lopsided, wistful shape, and Hermione returned a weak echo of it. _God_, Malfoy was too bloody gorgeous when he smiled like that, and in a strange way it was a relief to be able to admit that to herself instead of steeping in denial.

"You've been avoiding me," he said bluntly but quiet enough that no one else could hear, his eyes dragging over her, the look oddly intimate. Hermione gulped.

"I wasn't feeling well."

He gave her a scathing look. "_Really. _Is that so?"

"Yes, actually," she lied through her teeth – badly – and then prevented further talk with a mouthful of toast. Malfoy stared at her a little longer, obviously wanting to goad her into…Merlin knew what. But he didn't, and turned away to his tea in the end, and silence fell and reigned for a while.

"The Potters' kid was…cute," Malfoy said hesitantly, out of the blue. He was clearly making an effort to be casual, although he was still hanging onto part of that distant, awkward demeanour – his voice a little too formal, his posture a little too stiff. Hermione smeared a thick layer of butter over a second piece of toast, and sawed it neatly into two bits.

"Isn't he just?" she said, speaking to him as though they were polite acquaintances and berating herself for doing so. She needed to _relax, _damnit. She was _supposed_ to be talking to him, not ignoring him. "It was adorable the way he smacked you one." She smirked up at Malfoy, tearing a bit off the crust of her toast and popping it in her mouth. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Not so adorable from my side of things, although I must say it brought back memories. You had a good arm on you, if I recall correctly."

"You do," she said, grinning as she stuffed another morsel of toast in her mouth. "God, I wish someone had videoed that."

"One of your proudest moments, was it?" Malfoy asked, relaxing subtly in his chair and shifting to face her, stretching out his legs lazily and crossing them at the ankle, arms crossed equally lazily over his chest. Hermione hummed a little laugh under her breath, eyes going faraway as she remembered the occasion, before refocusing on the man beside her.

"No…no, not _proud_. I was rather ashamed of myself, actually, for giving in to such a barbaric urge. No." She shook her head, bit her lip, fully aware that she was deliberately _flirting_ at the teachers' table in front of all the other teachers, _and_ the students. She felt positively scandalous. "It was just so…satisfying," she admitted with innuendo-dripping relish, and Malfoy's eyes flashed dark, he swallowed hard. His eyes pinned her, cool, pale grey and yet somehow filled with heat. His voice was a little rough when he spoke.

"Satisfying…?"

"Very," Hermione told him, dragging out the word slowly and meaningfully, and then playfully, dismantling the sexual tension: "You really, _really_ deserved it."

Malfoy _hummph_'ed quietly at that and a smile played about his lips as he inclined his head to her in deference. "Fair enough. I don't disagree. I _was_ a little bastard to you, after all."

Hermione stared at him then for a long moment, as though she had never seen him before. The man before her was her _friend_, the one-time evil little git and then Death Eater – whom she had now tumbled into incredibly inconvenient head-over-heels infatuation with. And that was…so, so strange. She stared at him with wide, puzzled eyes trying to comprehend it, and he gave her a puzzled look, waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. "Herm–"

"Would you like to go out?" fell out of Hermione's mouth, and her face blazed up maroon, her hands tangled in her lap, squashing the poor slice of toast beyond all hope of rescue and getting butter all over her hands. And Malfoy straightened in his chair and narrowed a steely, intent kind of gaze on her, filled with such a myriad of emotions that she had no hope of identifying them all. He cleared his throat and canted his head to the side, _looking_ at her very carefully.

"Go out?" he asked smoothly, eyes narrowing and a glint of vaguely malicious pleasure sparking up in them.

"Yes. Um. Yes. Out. For…erm, dinner? Or…er, lunch, perhaps?" _Oh good one, Hermione,_ she berated herself furiously, _do try to sound more flustered why don't you?_

"We eat together every day, Hermione," Malfoy pointed out, a sly, not-quite-benign mischief in every sharp line of him. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner…why would we want to go out?" He was all fake-innocence and Hermione huffed and glared at him, embarrassment lost beneath a rising annoyance. She didn't stop to think that perhaps that was _why_ he had been gently goading her. She took a deep breath and stared him down.

"Because it would be a _romantic_ dinner," she said very bravely, half-glaring at Malfoy thanks to her determination to just _say it_, and then added belatedly and nervously: "Unless of course, you don't want to, in which case –"

"Salazar save me, shut up, of _course _I damn well want to, Hermione. I've wanted to for…" Malfoy gave her a helpless look, loose-boned with relief and smiling at her in a way that her heart skip. "…For quite a while, to be honest. But I thought you didn't feel that way – I – I wasn't sure. I didn't want to –"

"You were too afraid to ask me out!" Hermione accused him, full of surprise and almost-laughter. "You great big coward."

Malfoy scowled at her, but didn't deny it. His expression spoke volumes though; he looked like nothing so much as a scalded cat for a moment. And then he deliberately straightened in his seat, ran a hand over his hair, adjusted his robes, and finally fixed her with a completely composed, contemplative stare. Hermione shifted uncomfortably as his eyes raked intently over her, a little twinge sparking up betwixt her thighs in response. His expression turned vaguely triumphant as she pressed her thighs hard together, as if he could _tell._

"Tonight," he said decidedly, as if there would be no argument on her part. And there wouldn't be, but _he_ didn't know that, the presumptuous git. "Tonight; I know just the place." He named a very well-known Muggle restaurant in London, and Hermione felt her eyebrows crawl halfway up her forehead in surprise.

"…You can get a table _there_ on such short notice?"

"Of course I can," he said with a dismissive shrug of one shoulder, and a half-smirk, leaving Hermione agreeing with a nod and stupidly shy smile, while inwardly wondering _where_ and _how_ on earth she was going to get an appropriately dressy outfit in time. And then Malfoy turned the conversation neatly back to lighter subjects, lifting the stomach-twisting tension for the remainder of breakfast, thank Merlin. But all Hermione could think about beneath the appearance of relaxed chat was dinner, her nerves already balling up in tightly-strung knots.

**Dinner**

"You look amazing," Malfoy complimented her for the fourth time that evening as he pulled out her chair for her at the restaurant. She smiled with embarrassed pleasure and looked down, cheeks flushing faintly warm. It was so _strange_ to be out on a date with him like this. Especially with him strikingly handsome in a Muggle suit that had to have cost more than a month's wages, and she in a brand new dress that had cost almost a _week's _wages.

"Honestly, Malfoy, if you say it too much more, you'll just sound insincere," she told him, self-conscious at all the flattery, trying to tug down the skirt of her dress as she sat down at the cosy table with a view out over London. She wore a black bandage dress – insanely tight in her opinion – that showed off more cleavage than she was entirely comfortable with and stopped an inch too high up her legs, paired with dark purple heels that she felt distinctly wobbly in. Well, that was what she got for letting _Ginny_ help her in a hurried shopping dash only a few hours before her date. Malfoy certainly seemed to like it though, and Hermione couldn't deny that she loved the way he looked at her tonight, with a faint almost-awe in his eyes. She felt sexy as hell.

"Well I'm _not_," he told her firmly as he took his seat, popping open the buttons on his suit jacket with an easy, quick motion, lean and predatory in charcoal pinstripes with his short hair slicked carelessly back, and his top shirt button undone. Merlin he was _hot_. "Just so you know. I mean every word, Hermione."

She hid another smile behind the menu the waiter gave her. Dinner unfolded, simply, easily, thank Merlin, both of them relaxing as the evening went on – although the electric hum of sexual tension remained, buzzing in the air and making everything somehow more…_meaningful_. It was just like any other time she was around Malfoy, only now she was constantly being reminded of her desperate desire to shag him senseless. And then when the dessert menu arrived, Malfoy tossed it onto the table, leaning back in his chair and fixing her with a look.

"Hermione…"he began as a slow smile crawled over his face, wicked and sharp. "How about we skip dessert?" His voice was silky and persuasive, the real meaning lurking in his words crystal clear, and Hermione felt her cheeks slowly heat. "Or rather, have it _elsewhere_…" he continued in a low voice, and then waited for her answer with a vaguely amused expression as she caught in her breath and bit her lip nervously. Oh Merlin. She _wanted_ to, but it was their _first date_ and she wasn't sure it would be wise.

"We would…_partake_ in your rooms, I assume?" she inquired as calmly as was humanly possible, wanting to make sure they were _really_ talking about the same thing, and shock crossed Malfoy's face and shattered his carefully assembled composure as he mistakenly took her query for a tentative assent. His breath pulled in hard and his grip on the stem of his wine glass tightened, his full lips parted in a way that made her want to kiss them _immediately_.

"We would," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. Hermione couldn't help smirking to herself faintly, taking a rather childish little pleasure in realising the effect she could have upon him. But this was only their first date, and madly in lust with Malfoy or not, Hermione was not the type of person to leap straight into bed with someone.

"I…no, I don't think that would be a good idea," she declined Malfoy gently and watched his face fall – surprised by his disappointment and realising belatedly that he had been fully expecting her to say yes. She wasn't sure whether that spoke to his self-assurance, or whether his opinion of her was that she was wildly uninhibited – and if the latter she wondered where in the world he would have gotten _that_ impression.

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes dropped to the tabletop before he looked up again with a tight little smile and a nod. "Of course. Sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"It's fine, Draco. Honestly. I just…" She trailed off, unable to find the words. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, and she cursed in her head – a slew of filthy words that she'd mostly picked up from Ron. Dessert was incredibly stilted, and Hermione thought that perhaps her – perfectly reasonable – refusal had crushed Malfoy's ego. They managed to return to easy conversation just as they were leaving the restaurant, but Malfoy was uncertain and careful with her now, his smooth confidence gone, and Hermione was unaccustomed to taking the lead in romantic situations.

But after they'd disapparated to Hogwarts she made him walk her to her rooms, and said a soft goodnight to him in the empty corridor with the torchlight flickering dimly, casting leaping shadows on their faces. Malfoy kissed her goodnight cautiously on the cheek, and Hermione took great pleasure in sliding her fingers into his hair and firmly redirecting him to her mouth. Her kiss was demanding, insistent, and Malfoy made a please, low sound that was rough in his throat, and returned the kiss in kind.

Hermione smiled against Malfoy's parted lips. Just because she didn't think they should shag yet, didn't mean they couldn't…snog… She lost herself to the kiss as it lingered and deepened, her breath coming faster in a series of _mmphs_ and _ngghs_, the tight skirt of her dress hitching up precariously as she pressed the inside of her knee to the outside of his leg, trying to fit herself closer to him.

Malfoy's mouth was warm and soft on hers, his arm curling lean and wiry around her waist as he pressed her back up to meet the cold stone wall so they didn't lose their balance and fall down in a tangle. Hermione's back arched out, her breasts nearly bubbling out of the low-cut neckline, his thumb gently tracing the curve of one swell before he bent his head to her again, their tongues just barely brushing, making want shoot through her like lightning, and her clit beg for the touch of his long, skillful fingers. But instead he clutched her hip firmly with one hand, fingers indenting her flesh, and buried the other in her hair. Her whimpers were muffled by his lips, her hands curling over his shoulders and crumpling his suit as she grabbed onto him tightly, her knees feeling weak and watery.

"Christ," she gasped rather breathlessly as they broke apart after several long minutes, their eyes meeting, a smile burgeoning on Malfoy's lips that crinkled his eyes, his thumb grazing across her damp, kiss-swollen lips. He stepped back, smiling crookedly.

"Good night, Hermione," he said, and then walked away before she could form any kind of coherent words, his hair bright in the torchlight, straightening his suit jacket neatly as he disappeared down the corridor with a bounce to his step. Hermione slumped back against the wall bonelessly, tugging down the skirt of her dress as she stared after him wide-eyed and just a little dazed, her lipstick smeared. Wow.

**Breakfast**

"Good morning," Malfoy greeted her the next morning, bright and friendly, without a hint of innuendo. He sat down beside her, one of the tassels of his green hat sticking out of his deep jacket pocket, his hair ruffled and his grey eyes light and clear. "It's Saturday."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, her insides all suffused with delicious, happy warmth, remembering last night – the kiss, oh god, the _kiss_. Aloud she answered him pertly, with a hint of teasing sarcasm: "It is indeed, Malfoy. What an _excellent_ observation."

"Would you like to go for a walk into Hogsmeade? Right now? Perhaps stop in at the Three Broomsticks and have breakfast there instead of here?" He could have been asking her as a friend, perfectly casual and warm without a single jot of awkwardness – except the way his foot pushed against hers and his eyes glinted meaningfully were not platonic in the slightest. Hermione beamed at him, nodding without hesitation.

"I'd love to." She pushed her chair back and stood, a smile still playing about her lips as he pulled on his knitted cap and shot her a lopsided grin. She very much wished they weren't in front of half the school, because in that moment she really wanted to take his hand and hold onto it tightly. She did so as soon as they were off the grounds, completely alone, and he started with surprise at her cold touch, and then smiled down at her affectionately. His hand was warm and callused around hers, and he tucked her fingers up inside his to keep them warm. Their breath puffed steam on the air, and they bumped gently against each other as they strolled along in companionable silence, the air reddening their noses and cheeks and their feet crunching quietly on the path.

It was really rather perfect.

* * *

**Dessert**

Hermione had waited far too long for this – four long, _long_ weeks to be exact, aside from all the time she'd spent firmly in denial about her feelings – and from Malfoy's rough eagerness it seemed he agreed with her about the urgency of the matter.

She was barely through the door to Malfoy's rooms, flushed and nervous and _aching_ inside, before he was on her, door flying shut with a _bang _at his muttered charm. Hand to her cheek, calluses rough and dragging like heaven on her skin, backing her up fast and stumbling into the wall.

"Fuck…Hermione…" He was touching her all over with skilful, frantic hands, and her arousal was stoking like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes', flaming through her every nerve ending.

She slumped back against the wall, her skin tingling and her insides twisting deliciously as Malfoy growled into her hair, the sound breaking with a tight little hitch as his body flattened to hers and his erection ground against her belly through their clothes. The wall was hard and cold on her back, and he was hot and wiry, and as she pressed forwards against him she could feel the pound of his heart vibrating through his chest.

Her hands began hurriedly popping the buttons on his dress robes open, and his lips grazed along her temple, laying open-mouthed kisses. His mouth found hers as he bent his head, and Hermione chased after his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left them both gasping. Malfoy's mouth was soft and damp and hot, and the curls of his tongue made her clit throb and her pussy clench. It had been too long – much, much too long.

God, there were too many damn buttons. Why did that stupid wizarding restaurant have to have something against easy-to-remove Muggle clothing?

"Do you mind dreadfully if I just rip this off you?" she asked him with half-desperate humour as they broke apart for a moment to breathe, tugging at his robe roughly, cursing the long row of tiny buttons. Malfoy left off nibbling at her jaw and met her eyes – his pupils blown and his breath coming as short and jagged as hers was.

"I'd really rather you didn't, to be honest," he said ruefully. "Do you have _any_ idea how expensive this was? And magical mending just isn't the same."

She giggled near-hysterically, shaky with nerves and desire, and shook her head. "No I have no idea, and I don't think I want to. Just…get it off. _Now_."

"Bossy," he chided her with a wicked glance, but his long, elegant fingers were working at the buttons on his robes with quick sure movements. Hermione's robe fluttered to the floor in heaps of grey cloth just before his – far less buttons, being as her robes had been more of a cloak atop her floor-length wizarding style dress – and she took the chance to take off her heels, kicking them carelessly aside and watching as Malfoy draped his robes over the back of the couch.

"How much were they, then?" she asked curiously as Malfoy stepped forward and she immediately leaned toward him, his hands sliding around her waist to flatten on her back. Her head tilted up as she gazed at him with hooded eyes, and he kissed her mouth light and teasing.

"Too much."

Hermione went up on tiptoes and kissed him more deeply, swaying into him and cupping his face in her hands hungrily, her lips moulding to his and her tongue flicking out teasing and greedy. His cheeks were sandpapery with the faintest shadow of stubble, and he tasted like the sweet wine he'd had at dinner. Sparks of want shot through her and made her _need_ him in her, _now_. She felt like she wanted to push him down and bloody _ravish_ him on the floor right there.

"Fuck me," she told Malfoy raggedly as she stared into his eyes, the filthy, wanting words spilling from her tongue so naturally, and he groaned, his hands running down the curve of her back to grasp her bum through the thin silk of her dress.

"Oh fuck," Malfoy mumbled shakily against her skin, mouth latching to her throat, laying sucking kisses in a tickling line beneath her jaw, and her flesh prickled, shivers running over her like the crackle of static. "Oh fuck, Hermione, trust me, I'm going to."

Malfoy was breathless and his cock was hard against her abdomen, his fingers gathering her long skirts up with impatient little motions, and Hermione was dizzy with need. His hand shockingly hot on the bare skin of her thigh, like a brand, climbing up, stroking upwards towards the thin knickers she wore, now damp and just a bothersome barrier. He hooked her knickers down and replaced them with his hand, cupping her, his touch a welcome shock on her slick, needy flesh. She pressed eagerly against his touch, moaning and stuttering gasps as his fingers grazed and teased over all the right places, her own hands fumbling and tugging at his trouser fastenings.

Hermione was sure Hogwarts had some archaic rule about unmarried staff members not being allowed to have sex on school property, but at this point she didn't really care. And as long as they didn't start playing footsies at the High Table, she didn't think Minerva would care, either. She finally got Malfoy's trousers undone with a little cry of triumph, and shoved them and his shorts down over his hips, his cock bobbing free, her hand wrapping around the silky-hard hot length of it and squeezing, eliciting a choked moan from his lips, his forehead tipping down to press against hers, his pupils blown and eyes glazed. Hermione smiled.

He was bloody delicious, and oh Merlin, she was _starving_.

_**Fin.**_

* * *

**Author's Note:** I had a great deal of fun (and frustration) writing something that was so completely out of my comfort zone - short, and fluffy. I think I learned a lot about my strengths and weaknesses writing this, so yay!

I'm not *quite* happy with the pacing in this chapter, but unless I want to turn the fic into something twice the length, it was time to wrap it up. I hope the pacing worked okay for you guys :) Please leave a comment and let me know!

Oh, and: Happy very belated birthday, **Phnxgirl**! XD All the love!


End file.
